


Private Grif, Reporting for Duty

by Galaxa13



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxa13/pseuds/Galaxa13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a lazy slob gets drafted into the space marines? A lot of bitching and moaning, mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before Blood Gulch

    Dexter Grif hated his life.

    You'd think growing up on a tropical island would be ideal, but nice weather and beautiful vistas didn't make up for swarms of tourists, insane prices, and years of bullying. The bullying started with his mother's unfortunate ability to grow facial hair. He got constantly teased that he didn't really have a mother, just a giant bear living with him. In school he got ridiculed for both his test scores and his weight. It wasn't that he was stupid, he just didn't pay attention. Then there was the matter of his younger sister, Kaikaina. He loved her, but he was sure her life's sole purpose was to keep his social reputation a nuclear war site. She was as dumb as a brick and as horny as a rabbit. Dexter was constantly pulling her from bad situations and cleaning up her messes. He could handle it if people looked down on him for things he did (or, as was more often the case, _didn't_ do), but he hated being hassled for things his family did. Still, it wasn't all bad. It wasn't the worst life possible and he made do with what he had. His life really went to shit when the draft happened.

    It was known as The One Man Draft because he had literally been the only person drafted. He hated the idea of being shipped out to some ungodly place in space, but he figured he only had three options. Go to court and fight against being drafted (seeing as how he was _the only one_ ), run away and avoid getting arrested for skipping the summons, or just pack up his things and go along with it. The first two options seemed like too much work, so pack his things he did. He wasn't allowed to take much and he didn't have much to take so things went rather quickly. The only thing that really slowed the process was his goodbye to Kaikaina.

    She didn't want him to go and didn't understand why he had to leave her. He didn't have any answers to give her because the whole thing seemed just as idiotic and pointless to him as it did to her. He tried his best to keep her from getting upset. Either she'd start crying and refuse to let him get on the shuttle or she'd get mad and tell him she couldn't wait for him to get out of her life. He figured as soon as he was gone she was going to throw some ridiculous party and probably get pregnant again anyway, but he didn't want her to say as much to his face. So he talked slowly and softly to her, telling her that he was going away from a while and that she had to take care of herself from now on. He stressed that she was to not embarrass the family now that he wasn't going to be around to fix her screw-ups anymore. Dexter hoped the message got through to her. He wasn't sure it did as he finally entered the shuttle with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, but there wasn't much else for him to say to her now.

    As sad as it was to leave Hawaii there was a part of him glad to leave everything behind. Leave all the sad memories and regretted decisions. Leave all the people that knew anything about him and their feelings towards him. Start something new. Heck, he might even have some fun shooting aliens in the face. There was some hope that maybe this wouldn't be so bad. That, of course, was quickly shattered once he got to Basic Training.

    In simple terms Basic Training sucked balls. It sucked major, hairy balls. They forced him to do ridiculous exercise routines and listen to boring lectures. They expected him to _do_ things. He quickly short circuited the cooling fans in his armor with the amount he was sweating _doing_ all these things. Whenever someone complained about his performance he was quick to inform them that coming here was not his decision. No one cared that he was unhappy, tired, and in pain, they just yelled at him to do better. As such he spent most of his time sneaking off to nap or snack. He began to hope that if his performance was bad enough they'd just send him back home. He put no effort in and shirked duties whenever he could, but the torture had no end in sight. Being sent home didn't seem to be an option.

    Life continued to be cruel for Dexter Grif as the days wore on and had to make sure he knew it. Apparently some civil war or something had broken out and the fighting now continued man against man. He was even _less_ interested in this cause than he was about being sent out to fight some alien race. Still, Basic Training had finally ended for him and he was at last issued into the Red Army. As little as he cared for this fight at least it was something different from constant drills.

    This was when he met Private Simmons. Apparently he was the only other person assigned to his troop, their Sergeant would meet them at their base location in some place called Blood Gulch. The two men were briefly introduced to each other and escorted to their transport ship. After they had seated themselves in the back of the ship Grif looked over at his new teammate and said, "I can't believe it's only you with me."

    "What's that supposed to mean?!" Simmons was quick to reply, defensively.

    "Who ever heard of a team of soldiers this small? Shouldn't there be more people with us?" Grif said as he waved a hand over the other empty seats around them.

    "Yeah. . . I had wondered that too. . . B-but I'm sure they have their reasons!"

    "Like what?"

    "I don't know! Maybe they don't want to send everyone in at once and we'll get more people later on! Or maybe our outpost isn't as top priority as others so it doesn't need as many people to man it!"

    "So you're saying they are shipping us out to butt-fuck nowhere as the useless soldiers to get us out of their hair." Grif concluded dryly.

    "NO! That's not what I'm saying at all! I don't know about you, but I know I'm not useless and Command wouldn't waste my talents like that!" Simmons huffed.

    "Sure, whatever." Grif replied and the two men slipped into a lull of conversation. Simmons was fidgety as he and Grif sat in their silence. Grif rolled his eyes and fished out a pack of cigarettes, popping one out for himself before glancing at his nervous teammate and offering the cigarette to him instead.

    "Huh?" Simmons stated, looking at the offering in surprise.

    "Take it. Calm yourself down." Gif said, raising the cigarette slightly.

    "I don't smoke, and you shouldn't either!" Simmons said in disdain. "Besides," he continued, "I'm perfectly calm."

    "Sure you are. That's why you keep tapping your foot and fidgeting in your seat." Grif commented as he slid the pack back where he retrieved it from and pulled out a lighter in its place. Placing the cigarette between his lips with one hand he flicked the lighter open and started a flame with practiced ease in the other before bringing it up and lighting the end of his cigarette. Stowing the lighter back out of sight he took a deep drag and exhaled. Simmons made a face and turned away.

    "Oh come on, it's just a cigarette!" Grif said with annoyance.

    "It smells awful. Don't you know how bad those are for you?" Simmons shot back.

    " 'Course I do! Wouldn't be the first unhealthy thing I've done and it won't be the last. In fact, this right here is probably the best friend I've ever had!" Grif waved the cigarette above his head as if to emphasize his point before returning it between his lips and taking another drag. It was all true. Grif never really lived a healthy lifestyle and smoking helped him relieve a lot of the stress in his life. He preferred a life as stress free as possible and if cigarettes helped him achieve that goal then they were the truest friend he could ask for.

    "I hope for your sake our Sergeant doesn't mind your bad habit." Simmons said.

    "Don't really care if he does. Wouldn't be the first time I've disappointed a superior." Grif said with a shrug. This seemed to shock Simmons as he straightened and stared back at Grif.

    "How can you not care?" He asked in what seemed like horror.

    "The way I see it, everyone with a smidgen of power is an asshole anyway. Nothing I do will be good enough. I don't need to waste effort trying to impress them."

    Simmons simply stared at him before eventually sighing and looking at the floor. Grif figured their conversation had yet again ended when the other man said, "But they sure can make your life Hell if you _don't_ impress them." Grif looked his teammate over as he played with the cigarette between his fingers. From his tone of voice Grif could tell Simmons was speaking from experience. They were treading dangerously close to some sort of heart to heart, something he had no intentions of engaging in with someone he had only met earlier that day. So he said nothing in response, simply smoking his cigarette, leaving the two of them to their own thoughts.

    There would be more opportunities for them to have that heart to heart in their future stationed in Blood Gulch together. Opportunities for Grif to learn to hate everything about Simmons, to realize Simmons was full to the brim with insecurities, and for Simmons to become his closest friend. None of this had happened yet, though. For now they were simply two rookies lost in their own thoughts. It would be a moment Grif would immediately miss after meeting Sarge. A man that would be yet another thing to add to his ever growing list of reasons why his life sucked.


	2. Arriving at Blood Gulch

    "Prepare for landing." the pilot announced over the intercom in a rather bored tone.

    "Looks like we're here." Simmons said.

    "Great." Grif replied unenthusiastically before slipping his helmet on. It wasn't as if Simmons hadn't been an absolute _joy_ during the trip and it wasn't like Grif couldn't wait to get out of this ship, but he knew as soon as he stepped out he'd be entering a war zone. He still wasn't too keen on the idea of being out here. Being drafted was a bitch.

    When they finally touched down and the back hatch opened he and Simmons took their first steps out into Blood Gulch. It was a bright, sunny day with red rock walling them in on all sides and a pretty dinky looking base in front of them. Wasting no time the hatch they just stepped through automatically closed behind them and the transport ship began to take off. Grif didn't blame the pilot, this place wasn't all that appealing and he wished he was back aboard the ship as it rose into the air and quickly left. Before either he or Simmons could say anything a gruff voice called out to them.

    "Look alive, creampuffs!"

    Grif groaned as he looked up at the soldier clad in standard issue red standing on top of the base. That was obviously their Sergeant and already he could tell he wasn't going to like him. Soon enough the man had descended from his lookout and was coming out of the base to join them.

    "Welcome to Blood Gulch Outpost #1, I'm your Sarge. Now who the Sam Hill are you two?" he said, stopping in front of them.

    Simmons immediately straightened up and gave a salute as he said, "Private Simmons, Sir!"

    Sarge then turned to look at Grif expectantly and Grif sighed before saying, "Private Grif, reporting for duty." with as much energy as he could muster (which wasn't very much) and a half-hearted salute.

    "What in tarnation was that, Private? Stand up straight and say it like you mean it! And where's your respect for your commandin' officer?"

    Grif gave another sigh and stood up a little more before saying (a little louder than before), "Private Grif, reporting for duty, _Sir_."

    "Hmph, we'll have to work with you later, for now get inside the base so we can talk about a plan of action."

    "A plan of action, Sir?" Simmons spoke up.

    "Against those dirty Blues! I've been keepin' an eye on them this whole time, I just know they're up to something nefarious!" Sarge said before turning around and heading back inside the base. Grif and Simmons looked at each other before following after him with their bags.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Sarge was able to at least show them their sleeping quarters and allowed them to drop off their things before bringing them to the middle of the base (which was largely an empty room with a flag in it) for debriefing. Grif personally felt they deserved a little more time between their arrival and actual work. Then again his preferred amount of time between work was infinity so that wasn't saying much. Still, this seemed to be moving a little fast to him. Shouldn't they at least get to know their base and surroundings a little before jumping right into battleplans? Speaking of which, Sarge was rambling on about the opposing army so he figured he should at least try to listen some. Might as well learn about who was going to be shooting at him.

    "I'm tellin' ya, they're up to somethin'. I've seen them over there sneakin' around. Seen three of them. Been tellin' Command we needed more reinforcements here at Red Base. 'Course I knew I could take 'em if they ever tried anythin', but if Command bolstered our numbers I knew that would scare the pants off those cowardly Blues and they'd never even bother tryin' to capture the base and now here you are!" 

    "So you've been here all by yourself this whole time?" Simmons asked.

    "Who said I was alone? I got Lopez!" Sarge said, gesturing over his shoulder.

    It was then Grif finally noticed the soldier clad in brown that had been silently standing in the corner the whole time. It was eerie how he had never noticed the guy before. Even now he didn't move or say a word.

    "Is he. . . O.K.?" Grif asked.

    "Oh he's fine. Now as I was sayin'," Sarge continued. "We need to get the jump on those Blues now that our numbers have increased. They won't be expectin' it!"

    "But. . . Wouldn't they have seen our transport ship when it came in? Won't they know we're here?" Simmons questioned.

    "That's just it, Private, they won't expect us to mobilize so soon! We need to seize this opportunity and catch them by surprise as they wait for you two to get settled! In fact, I'm sure they're cooking up a nasty plot right now to use this time to ambush us while they expect the two of you to be gettin' acquainted with the base! We'll beat them at their own game!"

    "Uh, Sir? _Shouldn't_ we be using this time to get settled? I mean, how are we supposed to launch an attack when we don't even know our way around? We could easily get our heads shot off because we don't know the area and they do." Grif interjected. He really didn't like how things were going. He liked his head where it was and he wanted to keep it there for as long as possible. Launching an attack on Blue Base sounded like suicide to him.

    "Well if you get yourself shot the day you arrive then Simmons and I will just have to use your lifeless corpse as a shield. Simmons, in the event Grif dies you're tasked with holdin' up his body to stop the bullets."

    "Yes, Sir!"

    Grif couldn't even muster the energy to argue his point. It was obvious Sarge gave zero shits and was just going to do what he wanted no matter what Grif said. He was a little irked, however, that Simmons didn't bother to chime in. Hadn't the guy just questioned this ludicrous plan? Wasn't he bothered at all that Sarge didn't seem to care if they died?

    The orange soldier didn't even bother to listen to the rest of the discussion. Sarge and Simmons could prattle on about battleplans all they wanted. It was all stupid and there was nothing for Grif to add even if he was interested. They didn't seem to care about getting his input, in any case, so it worked out in the end. While the two of them discussed tactics, or whatever, Grif thought about his life and what had lead him to where he was. Maybe he had just been a really shitty person in a previous life and that's why things seemed to suck so much for him.

    "Sounds like a plan! Now let's get you boys loaded up!" Sarge eventually laughed and Grif tuned back in. It looked like they were actually going to do this. With a sigh he followed the red soldier as he lead them from the flag room into a hallway filled with lockers. Sarge opened one of the lockers and reached inside, pulling out a sniper rifle. He handed the gun to Simmons and continued retrieving and passing out weapons and ammo for the team. Grif took what was handed to him (a simple pistol and some ammo) without a word. He vaguely noticed that Sarge had given himself and Simmons a better artillery, but he really didn't want to be shooting anyway so he didn't bring the issue up.

    Once they had their gear Sarge immediately marched out of the base with Simmons hot on his heels and Grif trudging behind them. As they stepped outside a thought struck Grif and he asked, "Hey, what about Lopez?"

    "Grif, weren't you payin' any attention at all to our highly advanced missions meetin'?" Sarge barked over his shoulder as he marched. "We need someone to watch the base while we're gone in case those blue bastards try to sneak in while we're out!"

    "Oh, r-right, I knew that. I was, uh, I just forgot." Grif quickly replied with a nervous cough.

    "You didn't listen to a single thing Sarge said the entire time, did you?" Simmons said scathingly. Grif was sure he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

    "I totally was! He said we needed to attack Blue Base and that we'd _completely_ catch them by surprise right now." Grif shot back.

    "Quit yer yammerin' back there! Do you want to alert the enemy what we're up to?" Sarge called over his shoulder as he began to lead them up a path into the cliffs.

    "Sorry, Sir!" Simmons squeaked.

    "Kiss-ass." Grif said under his breath, but loud enough for Simmons to hear. The other soldier turned to look at him as they began their hike into the cliffs. Grif almost hoped he'd say something, but the maroon soldier kept his mouth shut and kept following their leader. 

    After walking for a good bit (and Grif cursing this cliffside pass many times) Sarge signaled for them to stop. Grif could see the opposing base down ahead of them. It looked just like their's and Grif absently wondered if Blue Base was just as shitty on the inside as Red Base was. Then again, he hadn't got to see much of the inside of Red Base due to this hasty surprise attack that Sarge had insisted on so there was the chance it wasn't as bad as his short glimpse had lead him to believe. Grif doubted that possibility.

    "Simmons, I want you to scope it out and tell us what you see." Sarge said as he motioned towards Blue Base. Simmons pulled the sniper rifle off his back and brought it up to his face, peering down the scope at their enemies.

    "I see two soldiers, Sir, standing guard on top of the base. A dark blue one and a light blue one," Simmons reported as he continued to scan. "No sign of the third target, he must be inside."

    "Hm, it would be better if they were all together so we could blast them all at once. We'll have to get that cowardly blue scum out in the open!" Sarge harrumphed. Simmons lowered the rifle and looked at him saying, "Sir, I think that-"

    "ATTENTION BLUE TEAM! PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MAKER! YAAAH!" Sarge shouted as he began to pepper the opposing base with bullets.

    "Sir! What about our element of surprise?!" Simmons cried out.

    "We're surprisin' them by shootin' them in the face, Simmons!" Sarge declared as he continued his assault.

    "You're insane!" Grif shouted as he hid behind a rock to avoid the bullets that Blue Team was now firing back at them. What the Hell was that guy thinking?! No way anyone could have thought this was a good plan! Grif started to wish he _had_ paid attention to their little powwow earlier because he couldn't believe that _this_ was part of the plan. Then again Simmons seemed to be just as out of sorts as he was so it didn't matter anyway. 

    "Grif! Why aren't you shootin'?! Stop hidin' and kill those Blues!" Sarge shouted as he and Simmons fired their weapons and avoided the bullets aimed back at them.

    Grif really didn't want to move from his little spot of relative safety, but from his commanding officer's tone he had a feeling staying put wouldn't save him from any bullets. So steeling himself against certain death Grif peeked out from his rock and surveyed the situation. He could barely see a thing and he wondered how he was expected to hit _anything_ at this distance. This was complete bullshit and probably could have been avoided if Simmons would have popped those two blue guys he saw with the sniper rifle. Still, he didn't want to endure Sarge's wrath if they somehow survived this so he brought up his gun and attempted a couple shots. Before he even needed to reload, however, he noticed some movement down below.

    "Shit! Grenade!" Simmons shouted as he scrambled away.

    "Pull back!" Sarge yelled and for the first time in a long while Grif was happy to follow an order. The team hightailed it out of there as fast as they could, but they were still well within the range of the blast when the grenade went off. Grif fell on his face as rocks flew in all directions and despite what anyone may say afterwards he totally didn't scream like a girl as he clutched his helmet. Nope, he played it totally cool. Or as cool as one could be after being knocked on your face.

    "Get off your butts! We need to get back to base and regroup!" Sarge bellowed as he collected himself and continued their swift retreat. Grif wanted to call him out on his bullshit, but going back to base was still his top priority and he didn't want to stick around in case those Blues had any more grenades they felt like chucking at them just to vent his frustrations at this crazy old man.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "That was the sorriest excuse for an attack I've ever seen!" Sarge informed them. They were back in the flag room at Red Base with Sarge pacing in front of said flag as his subordinates caught their breath. Grif wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but he was having a little trouble forming words at the moment. "In fact," Sarge continued, "I'd say it was one of the worst attacks in the history of Red Army!"

    "At least there weren't any casualties." Simmons offered, having collected himself.

    "If one of you had died that might have actually helped us!" Sarge said, stopping in his tracks to stare them both down. "Grif, you hardly even fired your gun! Simmons and I could have really used you as that shield since you weren't offering any support with fire power!"

    "With all due respect, Sir," Grif said, standing up straight, " _you're_ the one that made them shoot at us."

    "Of course I did! How else was I supposed to get their last team member out in the open? We were to start a skirmish and he would come out to investigate, then we'd have all three where we wanted them! It was a perfect plan. You boys just botched it up."

    Grif was absolutely stunned and it appeared Simmons was equally as flabbergasted because neither of them said a word as they stared at the older soldier. Who promoted this senile old coot to Sergeant? He had to be the worst commanding officer in the entire army. Surely there had been some mistake. Maybe this was all an elaborate joke that was being played on them? At any moment someone would say, 'Ha ha! Gotcha!' and reveal this wasn't their real assignment and they'd pack up and go to their real base. Or maybe it was just a bad dream and Grif was going to wake up any minute. Preferably on a beach back home with his sister kicking sand in his face.

    "Ah, there's no use bellyaching over it," Sarge sighed. "We've lost the element of surprise, but now we have plenty of time to form new battleplans! With more guns! This is only a minor setback in the tale of Red Army's glorious victory!" With his hands on his hips he seemed to beam through his helmet at the other two. Clearly he thought he had just given a rousing speech to boost morale. At least he was in better spirits and not biting their heads off. Grif supposed he should be thankful for that much.

    "Um, Sir?" Simmons spoke up. "Do you suppose Private Grif and I can unpack now?"

    "Hm? Oh, right, right. Go right ahead. Take a look around the base while your at it. I expect to see you both back here at 1800. We'll eat and discuss future action then." Sarge said with a nod.

    "Thank you, Sir!" Simmons replied with a salute. Grif made vague grunt and the two soldiers turned and walked back into the hall. This recent interaction actually did pick up Grif's spirits somewhat. They were actually allowed to relax for a bit? There was a promise of food? Sure he hadn't really ever fully grasped what military time translated to, but he was sure he could just ask Simmons when they were supposed to meet back up with Sarge. Making more plans didn't really interest him, especially seeing how their last one went _so well_ , but there was no way he was going to miss a meal. Speaking of Simmons. . .

    "Sooooo, he's completely insane, right?" Grif asked the man next to him. Simmons seemed to stiffen under the armor and hissed out, "He might hear you!" Grif chanced looking over his shoulder as they walked, but didn't see a soldier in red following them. Still, he supposed Sarge might have really good hearing so he didn't prod further. Simmons hadn't denied what he said anyway.

    Once they got to their sleeping quarters the two men retrieved their bags and selected their beds. They were more like cots, really, but Grif had mastered the art of sleeping anywhere so he wasn't all that troubled. Slipping off his helmet he lazily tossed it on his bed before unzipping his duffle bag. He started tossing clothes into the drawer under the bed without much care or thought. After messily depositing his clothes he nudged the drawer closed with his foot, a bit of T-shirt got caught poking out, but Grif ignored it in favor of plopping down on his bed and reaching into his duffle again to retrieve a snack cake.

    "You've got to be kidding me." He heard a voice say. Grif looked up to see Simmons staring at him with furrowed brows (he must have removed his helmet as well), a folded pair of pants hung across one arm.

    "What?" Grif asked indignantly.

    "Not only did you just throw your clothes in there like a big wad you brought junk food with you?"

    "Did you think I'd give up on the joys of eating good food?"

    "I wouldn't use the term "good". How many of those do you have?"

    "I'm not sharing any with you, if that's what you're after."

    "I don't want any!"

    "Good."

    Simmons groaned and slid a hand down his face as he grimaced at Grif. Meanwhile Grif just ripped the packaging open and hungrily bit into his processed confectionery. Letting out a little huff Simmons turned his back to Grif and returned to neatly stowing his own clothes away.

    "You agree with me though, right?" Grif said after swallowing.

    "About what?" Simmons sighed as he looked over at him.

    "About Sarge. He's completely off the deep end and you didn't back me up at all when he chewed me out!" Grif said, pointing his snack accusingly at the other man. Simmons' mouth tightened into a straight line and his brows furrowed again.

    "O.K., yes, I don't agree with everything he's done, but I don't want him yelling at me instead! If you want to piss him off that's your own battle to fight. I'm just going to follow orders." the maroon soldier replied. Grif mulled over this response as he took another bite.

    "Blood Gulch sucks." he said through a mouthful of cream.

    "Swallow before talking, asshole."


	3. Intermission

    "What's all the commotion out here?"

    "Sir! I think we just got attacked by those Red guys!"

    "Slow down there, Tucker. Don't worry about calling me "Sir" all the time. Just Captain is fine. Now then, what's this about the Reds?"

    "Tucker and I were just standing around when they started screaming and shooting at us like a bunch of assholes!"

    "Yeah, but then they ran away like bitches when I chucked a grenade at them."

    "Yeah, _my_ grenade!"

    "You weren't using it, dude."

    "I was totally going to use it! You snatched it out of my hand, jackass!"

    "Boys, boys, let's not fight about this. What's important here is that we're all unharmed and the Reds retreated. I think that counts as a victory for everyone. Let's have a little team building exercise, to bring us even closer together. Why don't you two test out those teleporters we have?"


	4. Touring Blood Gulch

    "So what time are we supposed to meet back up with Sarge?" Grif asked as he and Simmons walked around the base. After Grif had finished his snack Simmons finished putting his things in order and asked if he wanted to explore with him. The orange soldier was a bit happy that he hadn't pissed the other off enough that he wanted nothing to do with him so he accepted the offer. It would really suck if both him _and_ Sarge put him on their shit list.

    "He said 1800." Simmons sighed as they walked by the weapon lockers.

    "Yeah, but what does that translate to in _normal_ time?" Grif pressed with a roll of his eyes.

    "How do you not know what military time is?" Simmons shot back.

    "It doesn't make any sense. We already have a way of telling time, why do we need to learn this stupid way?" Grif groaned. Why was Simmons making this so difficult? He just wanted to know when they were eating.

    "Actually, military time runs on the 24 hour clock and it makes a lot more sense than the 12 hour clock most people use. It really-"

    "Wow, you're such a nerd. If I wanted to listen to a boring lecture I would have paid attention to all the ones they gave us at Basic." Grif interrupted before Simmons could continue explaining any more about stuff he didn't care about. Simmons curled his hands into fists as they walked.

    "Fine, but I still don't see why you need to ask me for a conversion. Your helmet has a clock in it set to the 24 hour clock. That is, unless you changed your settings?"

    "We have a clock in our helmets?!"

    Simmons stopped short and just stared at him. After a couple seconds he seemed to regain himself and blurted out, "Do you not pay attention to _anything_ , dumbass?"

    "Look, are you going to tell me what time dinner is or not?" Grif decided it was best to get this conversation back on track. He really didn't want to get into some pointless debate of what he did and did not know. His teammate made a sound of exasperation and threw his hands in the air.

    "Sarge wants us to meet up at 6p.m., O.K.?" he said before storming off through a doorway. Grif once more found himself wondering if he had just made his own life hell by pissing off one of the few people of Red Team. He was quick to follow after him and it turned out the room the maroon soldier had stormed into was the kitchen. Not only that, but Lopez was here too. The brown soldier sat at a table and appeared to be drinking something through a straw under his helmet. Grif had to give him points for finding a way to enjoy his beverage without bothering to remove his helmet, but wait. . . was that. . . motor oil?

    Grif jerked his head over towards Simmons to gauge his reaction, but either he hadn't noticed or he was actively ignoring this odd behavior as he was busying himself with looking through the food stores. Grif turned his head back back towards Lopez and found the other staring right at him as he drank. He gave the other man an unsure nod and he watched the straw slip out from under the helmet. Lopez stood up and returned the nod before tossing the can of motor oil in the garbage and walking passed him, leaving just Grif and Simmons in the kitchen. Grif wasn't really sure what to make of what he just saw. Lopez had stared right at him as he drank, was he trying to impress him? Grif supposed he was impressed, in a way. Even he never thought about drinking oil before and it didn't seem to phase him at all. Shaking his head he wandered over closer to Simmons and leaned against a counter, crossing his arms.

    "So we got anything good to eat?" he asked as he eyed Simmons.

    "Well, our supplies sure are eclectic," Simmons said turning to look at him. "I mean, we even have soi sauce in here."

    "Soi sauce? Awesome, I love that stuff." Grif said as he smiled.

    "You eat soi sauce?" The confusion was evident from his voice.

    "Yeah man, there's tons of Japanese restaurants back home. I eat that shit all the time!"

    Simmons said nothing in response as he continued mentally cataloging all of their edibles. Grif wasn't really sure what to do with himself. Should he leave him to his own devices and continue his tour of the base solo? Should he wait for him? He didn't really want to run the risk of bumping into Sarge by himself, but standing around waiting for Simmons to finish doing whatever it was he was doing seemed boring. He supposed he could try to find where Lopez went off to, but Grif got the impression Lopez wasn't really the type looking for company. The dude had yet to say a single word to them and had left as soon as he finished his, uh, snack.

    So with Sarge and Lopez completely out that left just Simmons. He still wasn't really sure how he felt about him yet. He certainly wasn't his optimal choice for company, but compared to the rest of his options Grif supposed he would have to settle. As such, he should probably try to make things less rocky between them. He didn't want to blow his chance of having at least _one_ person to talk to in this canyon.

    "You know, you're probably right." he said with a sigh.

    "About what?" Simmons said, putting down a package that looked like a M.R.E.

    "About following orders and not pissing off Sarge." Grif said, unfolding his arms and walking away from the counter. "It's probably for the best to just do as we're told. I mean, it's not like we can make much of a difference anyway, right? That's usually my strategy in life, that's what brought me here. I guess I was just a little shaken from our first actual fight and by how quickly everything was moving. Sorry I was kind of. . . I don't know, snippy I guess?"

    ". . . Uh, apology accepted? Um, don't worry about it. Let's just make the most of it." Simmons said, holding out his hand. Grif looked at the hand before smiling and shaking it.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    The two soldiers were able to finish exploring the base and familiarizing themselves with it. Turns out it was just as shitty as Grif had suspected. The showers didn't even work properly (though that didn't phase Grif much) and their medical supplies were sorely lacking. Simmons said something about talking to Sarge at their meeting about requesting more from Command. Grif wondered how _that_ conversation would go. Sarge would probably say having more antiseptic would just slow them down.

    Simmons had suggested they roam the area around the base now that they had looked around inside, to which Grif shrugged. Outside they found Sarge sorting through a tool box. He seemed more than willing to ignore them, which Grif was thankful for, but Simmons felt the need to announce their presence.

    "Sir, we were going to patrol the perimeter!" he said with a salute. Grif gave him a grimace under his helmet. He made it sound like they were doing work, he didn't want that. He was just wasting time before they could eat.

    "Good idea, Simmons, I knew I liked you." Sarge said, looking up. Simmons stood straighter at the praise and Grif rolled his eyes. He was like a puppy, Simmons. Just waiting for a treat. Then Sarge turned his head towards him and Grif stood a bit straighter himself, not wanting to get yelled at again. "I expect a full written report when you get back."

    "Do we have to?" Grif groaned. Stupid Simmons, he thought they were just going to bum around, now he was roped into a surveillance mission.

    "I expect a report, Private!" Sarge barked and despite being physically shorter than Grif the older man seemed to tower over him.

    "Understood!" Simmons spoke up and Sarge backed down a little, to Grif's relief. The man in red turned his back to them and went back to his tools. Simmons gave a slight nod of his head to their superior's back and marched off, with Grif trudging along besides him. After they had put some distance between them Simmons said, "What was that about just following orders and not pissing him off?"

    "Oh, shut up." Grif muttered and he could have sworn he heard a soft chuckle coming from his teammate. "You laughing at me now?" he questioned, turning his head to look at him.

    "Just amazed at how quickly your resolve falters." Simmons replied.

    "Yeah, well, it wasn't like I was expecting to write any reports today. Thanks for signing me up for that." Grif said, kicking a rock with his toe as they walked.

    "If it makes you feel any better _I'll_ just do it myself. Besides, you didn't need to come with me. You could have stayed inside."

    "Sure, hang out with Lopez and have a stirring conversation or wait to get jumped by Sarge. Sounds like a blast! Nah, man, I'll be out here and scope out any and all possible escape routes for when those Blues attack us for that stunt we pulled earlier."

    "Heh, maybe they'd launch an _actual_ sneak attack and show Sarge how it's done."

    Maybe Simmons wasn't all that bad. Grif found himself smiling as they turned to walk along the edge of the canyon wall.

    "Maybe if we're lucky they'd shoot Sarge and we'd get a better one. Preferably a guy I'd want to have a beer with." the Hawaiian said as he reached out a hand and lightly dragged his fingers along the dusty rock enclosing them. He wondered if being stationed in a canyon would ever get to him. Stuck in a hole with nothing to look at. Probably best not to think about it, lest such thoughts bring it on.

    "I highly doubt that if they're able to shoot Sarge we'd get away unharmed." Simmons said.

    "A guy can dream, Simmons."

    They continued chatting as they walked around. It felt nice to just shoot the breeze after everything. The two men didn't really talk about anything in particular, but they still talked. Each offering a snide remark in turn as well as complaints about their situation. While their actual words mattered little the two soldiers found themselves bonding, if only a little, over their shared desire to be anywhere but Blood Gulch.

    Eventually, however, Grif found himself growing bored of their little walk. There weren't all that many places to go and he certainly wasn't going to go for another hike in the cliffs. Plus he was getting tired. His feet hurt and he wanted to sit down for a while.

    "Hey, let's go back. I think we've seen all there is to see out here. You've seen one patch of dried grass and rock, you've seen 'em all." he said with a bit of tired whine in his voice.

    "Yeah, this place really is a dump." Simmons agreed with a sigh. "Besides, I should start working on that report Sarge wants so that I can turn it in at our meeting."

    "You mean dinner."

    Simmons gave a quick huff and said, "Yes, dinner too, but you better pay attention to the meeting. Not like the last one, I can't believe you didn't listen to any of our battle plan."

    "What good would it had done us if I did? Sarge wrecked the whole thing anyway." Grif was quick to defend.

    "That's not the point. Just. . . Try and pay attention this time, O.K.? I don't want Sarge to get any more riled up."

    "Yeah, sure. I'll listen to what he has to say." Grif said as they made their way back to the base. He'd listen, sure, but he'd avoid participating in any discussions or being happy about it.

    When they got back to base Simmons excused himself to go write their "surveillance report" and Grif wandered over to their sleeping quarters. He planned on crashing in his cot and getting off his feet for a bit. The thought of taking a nap crossed his mind, but he didn't want to risk over sleeping and getting woken up by an enraged Sarge because he had missed their oh so crucial meeting. He got the feeling Sarge wouldn't be too happy with him if he skipped it.

    With a sigh he sank onto his bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling with his helmet balanced on his chestplate. He wondered what Simmons could possibly be writing in that report. "We saw some rocks and dirt. It was hot out." was the best he could come up with. All the better it was Simmons doing the writing and not him.


	5. Evening in Blood Gulch

    Grif rubbed a thumb across the watch's face, wiping away some lint from the glass. He watched the second hand tick by. He never wore the watch back home and certainly couldn't wear it with his armor now, but it was still one of the few things he had packed before being sent into the military. This dumb thing that wasn't even digital. It was one of those novelty watches that had Mickey Mouse on it, his arms were the hour and minute hands. It had been a birthday present from his mother years ago. She had mailed it to him from the mainland along with a card.

    It was a pretty lame gift, all things considered, but it still meant a lot to him. He never really saw his mother because she was busy touring with the circus. He had felt abandoned after she left. What kind of mother just decides to join the circus and leave her kids behind? So the gift had come as a complete surprise, he never expected to hear from her again. He had been a moody kid over her new career, but his mother proved that she did still care about them. Over time he stopped being angry at her for leaving and held on to the watch.

    The watch was telling him it was nearing the designated time so with a sigh Grif put it back in his bag and slipped his helmet on. He wasn't really sure where he was supposed to go as he stepped out into the hallway again. Had Sarge even told them where to meet up? If he had Grif hadn't been listening because all he could recall was the promise of dinner and Simmons urging him to pay attention to their meeting. Oh well, it wasn't like this place was all that big. If he didn't run into anyone someone was sure to run into him. So Grif decided to head for the flag room. It was the middle of the whole base and that's the last place Sarge took them to have a little talk so it seemed like the best idea to him.

    When he got there he found Simmons already standing in front of the flag, clutching a bunch of papers in his hands. Simmons looked over at him as he entered and said, "Oh, so you made it after all."

    " 'Course I made it. Wouldn't miss dinner for the world. Even if I have to wait through a boring meeting. What's all that?" Grif asked as he gestured towards the papers.

    "It's my report for Sarge!" Simmons said, sounding rather proud of himself.

    "Jesus Christ, how many pages is that?"

    "Twelve, but a good portion of it is just a list of supplies I think we should request from Command. Gauze, bread, cartridges for the fax machine-"

    "Why do we have a fax machine, anyway? Who even faxes in this day and age?"

    "Quit your chit-chattin', you two." Sarge said as he marched in. His two subordinates were silent as he made his way to the flag and stood next to it. "I trust you two know the lay of the land by now?" he questioned as he looked them both over.

    "Yes, Sir, and here's that report you wanted!" Simmons said as he handed over the papers. "I included some suggestions on how to increase our efficiency, here at Red Base. I couldn't give you any hard percentages as I haven't been here long enough to know the base standard of our work output, but I'm sure if given enough time I can crunch the numbers and update my findings."

    "Hrmm, you do that, Simmons." Sarge said as he quickly flipped through the pages. From his tone of voice he sounded like he didn't much care. Grif didn't really blame him. Clearing his throat Sarge continued on, "Now then, since you're both here we ought to get this show on the road. First order of business is-dagnabbit, Simmons, what is it?" 

    Simmons had raised a hand and now appeared to be regretting his choices as he slowly lowered it and seemed to sink in his armor. Grif figured he deserved it. After all, who raises their fucking hand anymore? Did Simmons think they were in class? He probably did, since he brought his homework and everything.

    "U-um, I was just wondering, Sir, if we shouldn't wait for Lopez? I would have thought you'd want the whole team together before we get started." Simmons said nervously.

    "Lopez is repairin' some whozit-whatzit for me. Don't know what it does, but it was makin' funny noises. Besides, he doesn't need checkin' in like you two. Don't you worry 'bout him. Now, as I was saying," Sarge gestured towards the flag, "I told you last time how important our flag is. It's the very symbol of Red Army! Not just because it's red or literally has our symbol on it, but because it stands tall and firm in the face of adversity!" At that he thwacked the pole with his hand, causing the flag to tilt to the side. Grif had to hold back a snort as Sarge cleared his throat again and straightened it before continuing on, "While we did not win the battle today, we will certainly win the war! I won't ever let this beautiful flag fall into enemy hands, but we will snatch their own flag and secure their base as our own! One day we will have full control of Blood Gulch! I want you to remember that, boys, no matter what happens we won't let those dirty Blues win!

    "Tomorrow I expect the both of you to start pullin' your weight around here. Keep an eye on the enemy, keep our base secured and in tip-top shape, and follow all commands without question!"

    "Yes, Sir!" Simmons immediately said with a nod. 

    "But before another moment is wasted there is somethin' very crucial I must teach you about how we operate here in Blood Gulch Outpost #1 and that is. . . How to answer a call."

    "What." Grif stated flatly. He wasn't serious, was he? He couldn't be. How is answering a call "crucial"?

    "Can it, dirtbag," Sarge growled. "I won't have you questionin' this. It's something you need to know! Now then, if someone were to call our base and I don't answer it this is how I want you to respond: Thank you for callin' Red Base, this is Sarge, how may I assist you today? Except, you know, your rank and name. Instead of Sarge. That's me, and I won't have you impersonatin' an officer!"

    The two privates stood in silence as Sarge stared at them. Neither were quite sure how to respond. Obviously he was dead serious about this, so what could they possibly say?

    "Well?" Sarge finally pressed.

    "Uh. . . Excellent plan, Sir? It sounds really professional!" Simmons said.

    "No, Simmons! You're supposed to repeat the line! I already know how integral this is to how we run things smoothly, I don't need you tellin' me that!" Sarge barked.

    "Oh! R-right! Um, thank you for calling Red Base, this is Private Simmons, h-how may I assist you today?"

    "No stutterin'! Can't have Command thinkin' we're a bunch of ninnies out here! Grif! You're up next!"

    "Huh? Oh, uh, this is Red Base, Private Grif speaking, can I take your order?"

    Sarge started making a series of frustrated noises and it sounded like he was muttering threats under his breath, but it was hard to make out any of the words. Finally he said, "Repeat after me, numbskulls: Thank you for callin' Red Base. . ."

    "Thank you for calling Red Base." "Thank you for calling Red Base."

    "This is, your name."

    "This is Private Simmons." "This is your name."

    "DAGNABBIT, GRIF!" Sarge bellowed before cocking his shotgun and pointing it at the orange soldier's face. Grif found himself giving a squeak and taking a step back. "If you don't start takin' this seriously you won't have to worry about answerin' any calls! Let's start this again! Thank you for callin' Red Base!"

    "Thank you for calling Red Base!" "Thank you for calling Red Base!"

    "This is, your name!"

    "This is, Private Simmons!" "This is, Private Grif!"

    "How may I assist you today!"

    "How may I assist you today!" "How may I assist you today!"

    "Good! Now start from the top!"

    "Thank you for calling Red Base, this is Private Simmons, how may I assist you today?" "Thank you for calling Red Base, this is Private Grif, how may I assist you today?"

    "Now that's more like it! We'll keep drillin' this until you boys can recite it in your sleep! We must maintain our professionalism here at Red Base! We can work on this more later, however, in the mean time let's talk about guns and murder! Specifically our guns and the murder of the Blue Team!"

    Despite his growing fear of his safety around Sarge Grif was finding it harder and harder to pay attention. Was Sarge ever going to say anything important? How long was he going to talk? How long had he already been talking? It felt like ages since he left his watch in his bag. Dear god, was he _still_ talking? Grif couldn't even be bothered to listen at this point. He had made a valiant effort, but all this talk about flags and _answering messages_ had zapped up his last bit of energy to care. His mind had already begun to wander as soon as Simmons started playing teacher's pet and now that Sarge was no longer pointing a gun at him it had completely left, abandoning this stupid meeting.

    He snapped back to attention as soon as he heard the word "dinner" uttered by Sarge.

    "Are we finally going to eat?" Grif groaned. He'd been waiting for this ever since Sarge had mentioned it.

    "Yes, we are, and if you want to keep eating you better watch yerself." Sarge growled at him before marching off and saying, "This way, boys!"

    Simmons and Grif both followed him to the kitchen and Sarge ordered for both of them to take a seat. Grif was more than happy to oblige and plopped down at the table before unhooking his helmet and setting it on the table with a sigh. Simmons hesitated a moment, glancing at Sarge as he rummaged around in the cupboards before sitting across from Grif. He also removed his helmet, but sat it next to him on the bench. Soon enough Sarge marched over to them and tossed them each a M.R.E. and a fork.

    "Are you kidding me?" Grif asked, incredulously as he picked up the package in front of him.

    "I won't be hearin' anymore complain' outta you." Sarge said as he sat on the same side as Simmons with his own M.R.E.

    "But. . . Sir, we do have other things we can eat. I checked earlier in the day myself!" Simmons said as he stared at their leader as he too removed his helmet.

    Sarge fixed them both with a hard stare and said, "You'll eat it and you won't complain like a bunch of children." Then he ripped open his package and started to poke around in it with his fork.

    Grif stared down at his own M.R.E. It claimed to be filled with chili. Well, food was food. Opening it he stared at the reddish-brown sludge inside. Sticking his fork inside he quickly put a bite into his mouth. Better not look at it too long, he figured.

    Well, it wasn't the _worst_ thing he had ever tried, but Grif certainly wasn't going to go so far as to say it was _good_. Not disgusting, but not something he'd choose to eat if he had the option. Simmons also seemed less than thrilled with the taste of their dinner, but Sarge didn't seem to care at all as the older soldier went on eating.

    The three of them ate in silence. At one point Grif thought about Lopez and wondered if he should ask if he was going to join them, but then he realized he didn't care and didn't say anything. He actually didn't mind the silence. Sure, the silence seemed awfully heavy, but the alternative was listening to Sarge more or Simmons. Some of the conversations he shared with Simmons on the trip here had been bad enough so Grif felt to best to leave things as they were. True, their conversation while they walked around outside wasn't as bad, but Grif didn't think Simmons was going to be so openly dissmissive in front of Sarge.

    Unsurprisingly Grif finished eating first and already he was dreaming about some of the snacks back in his bag. Then again he didn't want to go through his personal stores so quickly. He had already gone through most of the stuff he had brought from home and had to restock his supplies at the concession stand back at Basic before getting shipped out here. That concession stand had been a godsend, but he still felt like he should ration out his snacks from home. Or, the one snack from home. He wasn't very good at rationing and all he had left from his own kitchen was a jelly cream pie. Grif was saving that for desperate times. He didn't want to go through his snacks that quickly again and once more just be left with one thing. Maybe he could find something in this kitchen to eat and conserve his personal snacks. When Sarge wasn't around, that was.

    Speaking of Sarge the other man seemed to have finished his own dinner now and was wiping at the corners of his mouth. Crumpling up the empty M.R.E. packet he said, "Simmons, when you finish I want you and Grif to go outside and stand look out. Make sure those dirty Blues don't try any funny business tonight."

    "Yes, Sir!" Simmons piped up and Grif just sighed. Whatever, at least it wasn't, like, _actual_ work. They just needed to keep an eye out for Blue Team.

    "Shouldn't we clean up our forks, Sir? Before we leave?" Simmons continued.

    "Ah, don't bother, Simmons, there isn't any water to clean them with." Sarge grunted as he stood up.

    "N-no water?!" the other soldier squeaked as he stared wide-eyed at their commanding officer.

    "Yep. Ran out around 2 months ago." Sarge said as he scooped up his helmet as if he was commenting on the weather.

    "But-but without water what will we do? What have _you_ been doing?" Simmons wailed. He was quite visibly upset at the notion that they had no water. Grif didn't really think it was that big a deal. Sarge had obviously gone this long without it and it wasn't like Grif personally had a desire to pour himself a glass of the stuff so he really wasn't that bothered by the idea.

    "Red Team will persevere through all hardships, Simmons," Sarge said before slipping his helmet on. "We adapt and survive!" With that said he marched out of the kitchen, leaving Simmons to gape.

    "Well. . . That explains why the showers didn't work." Grif eventually offered. It was really kind of sad seeing Simmons in such a state of shock at this revelation so he figured it would be best to snap him out of it.

    Simmons whirled his head around to stare at him and snapped, "Aren't you at all upset at this news?!"

    "Not really." the orange soldier said with a shrug.

    " _We need water to survive, Grif._ " Simmons hissed through clenched teeth.

    "Well Sarge isn't dead yet. Guess we'll just have to make do without having a pool party or ice in our lemonade."

    Simmons let out a pained sounding groan and propped his elbows on the tabled as he buried his face in his hands. Apparently he was having some sort of internal struggle. Dude needed to calm down. It wasn't the end of the world. At least, Grif didn't think it was. Maybe Sarge was really part cactus? Oh, that probably meant Lopez was too. In any case, this was just further proof that Blood Gulch sucked.

    "I hate this place." Simmons said, revealing his face once more.

    "Hey, I was just thinking the same thing." Grif said amicably. Simmons let out a sigh and began to clean up their meal. He tossed the forks in the sink that would never get used and the empty packets in the garbage. Walking back to the table he picked up his helmet and looked at Grif.

    "Let's go start patrol." he said before putting the maroon helmet back on. Grif reached for his own helmet and followed suit.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Guard duty was just as boring as Grif had imagined it to be. Not only was there nothing to look at, but he had to listen to Simmons constant bitching about the water thing. It was really grating on his nerves every time he heard the other man muttering under his breath. Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

    "Oh my _god_! Will you shut up about the water?" he cried out, throwing his head back as if pleading to the sky to tear open and swallow him up.

    "But Grif-"

    "No. Shut up. I don't want to hear another word. It's not like we can just magically make water appear any way! The most we can do is just add it to your stupid list of supplies you want to ask Command for." he said, glaring at the other soldier.

    "It's not stupid! We are sorely under-equipped in basic supplies here. Ever more so than I previously thought!" Simmons complained.

    "Yeah, well, I for one already knew we were boned the moment we set foot here. Welcome to the club."

    "You just have a bad attitude about everything so you don't realize how messed up this actually is."

    "No, _you_ don't realize how messed up things are. I have, which has lead me to have such a "bad attitude". Seriously I could go on and on about how things suck. Do you know how many of my favorite shows I'm missing while we stand out here in the heat?"

    "MISSING YOUR SHOWS ISN'T THE SAME THING AS HAVING NO WATER!"

    "EVERYTHING SUCKS! I'M JUST GIVING AN EXAMPLE!"

    "I'M TALKING ABOUT A REAL ISSUE, NOT YOUR PETTY COMPLAINTS!"

    "WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS! IS NOT AS BIG A DEAL AS YOU'RE MAKING IT OUT TO BE!"

    "THE FACT THAT THERE'S NO WATER _IS_ A BIG DEAL! IT'S PROBABLY WHY SARGE IS SO INSANE!"

    "WHAT WAS THAT?" Sarge shouted from behind them.

    The two soldier quickly spun around and Simmons began nervously blabbering as Sarge stood imposingly before them.

    "I-I-I didn't know you were there, Sir! Grif and I, you see, w-we were just-"

    "Can it, Simmons," Sarge barked as his fingers tightened around the gun he was holding. "The two of you were bein' loud enough the Blues could surely hear you." Grif uneasily shifted his weight between his feet. They really had gotten loud and Sarge seemed pretty upset with them. Oh god, they were probably going to die right here. This was where his life would end. Arguing about water and then shot in the face. What a way to go. This was all Simmons' fault.

    "I'm-I'm sorry, Sir!" Simmons said.

    "I'll over-look your disrespect this time, Simmons," Sarge said. "I'll even let you off the hook for the noise. I don't blame you for being irritated at Grif. I knew he was a good-for-nuthin' deadbeat the moment I saw him." At that he turned his head to stare at Grif and the orange soldier couldn't stop himself from blurting out an affronted, "Hey!"

    "I was actually coming out here to release you from your posts. It's about time we turned in for the night." Sarge continued, giving a little "harumph" and straightening himself.

    "Wait, what?" Grif asked, looking around. "It can't be that late. It's still light out!"

    "It's almost ten o'clock, Grif." Simmons said, still sounding quite annoyed with him.

    "WHAT?! But. . . the sun! It's barely moved at all!" Grif cried out.

    "If you want to stay out here and keep guard while we sleep I'd be willing to change my thoughts on you." Sarge said.

    "Hell no! I'm all for bed, but what is up with the sun? How can it be that late?"

    "Oh my _god_! Will you shut up about the sun!" Simmons said, imitating what had started their whole argument in the first place. Grif shot him a glare through his helmet, maybe if he glared hard enough Simmons could feel it burning through his own helmet.

    "If you two will quit yer whinin' we can get goin'." Sarge grunted. Grif gave another glance skyward, but said nothing. He really shouldn't be complaining if they were being given an excuse to quit working. Following the red soldier back inside they made their way to their sleeping quarters. Sarge apparently had his own private room, but before splitting off from them he reminded them to sleep in their armor because "you never know when trouble strikes" followed by closing the door in their faces.

    Grif let out a groan. This was so _stupid_. He said as much to Simmons.

    "I'm telling you, it's the lack of hydration."

    "Oh don't you start that again." Grif said with another groan as he made his way to his bed. As he reached up to grab his helmet he noticed Lopez standing silently in the corner again. After pulling his helmet off he turned to his brown teammate and quizzically said, "Yo, when did you get here?"

    Lopez turned to look at him, but said nothing.

    "Uh. . . You just gonna stand there?"

    In response the other solder just lowered his head. Was he. . . was he planning on sleeping standing up? Now that he thought about it, Grif hadn't seen any of the other beds taken when he and Simmons had claimed their own. Grif turned to look at Simmons holding his maroon helmet in his hands. Simmons just rolled his eyes and put his helmet down as he got himself situated for bed. Looking back at Lopez Grif studied him for a bit before minding his own business. Why was everyone so fucking _weird_ here?

    Putting his helmet down Grif crawled into bed and folded his hands on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't any darker in here than it had been outside. What was up with this place? Weird sun, weird people, nothing seemed to go right here. Grif let out a small sigh. He could easily let himself fall asleep even in his armor and the strange brightness despite the time, but he just had too many thoughts right now.

    Basic Training had been bad enough. He missed being back home. A small part of him even missed his annoying sister, but now things were even worse. Now he was stuck in some canyon with a C.O. that was assuredly the most insane person he had ever met. He had even sent them out and botched up an attack mission when they first got here. Not only that, he was stuck with a creepy silent guy and Simmons who, while proving to be the least insane member of the team, was no less annoying. Everything had been going wrong today and Grif couldn't imagine it getting much better tomorrow.

    Why was he here? What had he done to deserve this in his life? He wasn't a saint, but he couldn't imagine he'd done something so awful that he was being punished for it by being put here. Was this all some sort of cosmic test he was being put through? Was God up there putting him through all this shit to make him a better person? Maybe this was just proof that God didn't exist at all. Grif felt he didn't deserve this, why would some benevolent dude with a beard put him here if he actually existed?

    Grif glanced over at Simmons, who laying with his back to him, then to Lopez, who was still standing in the corner with his head down. They probably didn't have such troubling thoughts right now. He really hated getting all existential like this, but he couldn't help it. This all just didn't seem fair. Where was the justice of it? Either he really did deserve this shitty situation or there was absolutely no purpose to any of it. Life had no meaning and they were all just sacks of meat waiting to die one day.

    He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he felt his heart pound in his chest. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay on the beach and comfortably nap without a care in the world. Not lie here in his armor thinking about how much his life sucked or worrying over the existence of God. It would be nice to know if he had some sort of purpose, if there was a reason for him to be here, laying on his cot instead of on the sand. It would be nice to know if there was a plan for him. Sadly, there were no such answers. All he could do was just deal with it and go on with his sucky life. Maybe, by some miracle, things would get better here. This was only the first day, after all.

    Nah. He was going to die here.

    Grif rolled over, still plagued by negative thoughts as the hours ticked by.


	6. A New Day in Blood Gulch

    Kai is sitting at the table. She looks at her brother across from her. "Where have you been, Dex? I've been looking everywhere for you!" she says.

    "Sorry, I've been busy." Grif says, not looking at her.

    "You're always busy! You promised you'd help me feed the fish!" she whines.

    "I don't think Sarge would be O.K. for me running off to do that." Grif sighs.

    "Screw him! He's old and weird!" she says as she slams her hands on the table.

    "O.K. Fine. Let's just go already." Grif says with another sigh. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a container of fish flakes. He looks at it for a moment before asking, "Are they even open now?"

    "Are you always this dumb?" Simmons asks with a huff next to him. The bus seems to be moving really slowly. Shouldn't they be going faster?

    "I'm just asking! You're the one that wants me to do this." Grif says, getting more annoyed.

    "Where do you think you two are goin'?" Sarge says, peeking around from the seat behind them. Grif starts and then quickly jumps off the bus. He's got to get away before Sarge catches him! He's going to get in so much trouble! He runs into a building and makes his way down the halls until he's in the locker room from Basic. If he can just hide in here for a bit maybe Sarge won't find him.

    Just as he conceals himself behind a set of lockers Sarge storms in. He carefully sneaks around as Sarge searches for him. Grif can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He's going to catch him. He's going to catch him and he's going to get in so much trouble! Carefully he sinks down to the floor and quietly crawls passed his C.O., towards the exit. Sarge doesn't appear to notice him and he bolts out the door. Got to get out of here before Sarge finds him again!

    There! He sees the bus! Jumping on in he flops into his seat and sighs. This is too much for him! Where's his cigarettes? He needs a smoke.

    The bus starts moving and he looks out the window. Oh no! He can see a giant wolf he knows is Sarge chasing them! Why won't the bus go any faster?! Don't they realize he's going to catch them!? Grif is panicking. Sarge jumps and lands on top of the bus. He rakes his claws across the roof, tearing it open. Reaching inside he grabs Grif and pulls him out. No matter how much he struggles he can get out of his grip. Sarge tosses him in his mouth and eats him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "-on! Wake up!"

    Grif groggily opened his eyes and blinked up at Simmons as he shook him. He had a scowl on his face as he put his hands on his hips.

    "Are you awake now? Well, get up, we need to go meet up with Sarge." he said, staring down at the orange soldier.

    Grif groaned and tried to roll over, but it required a little more effort to roll over in his armor than he was willing to dish out at the moment, so he just turned his head. Simmons sighed irritably.

    "Fine! Stay in here and get yelled at! See if I care!" He huffed before storming out.

    Damn it. Grif rubbed at his eyes. No, he didn't want Sarge to come in and get all mad that he wasn't up. That would be one of the worst ways to start his day. Huh. . . Sarge. . . Didn't he have a dream about Sarge?

    Grif sat up and swung his legs around, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Yawning he pondered over the dream he had last night. It sure was weird. Didn't Kai turn into Simmons at some point? Something about feeding fish. Then Sarge was a wolf? For some reason? Man, fuck dreams, they never make any sense.

    Grif looked around and found he was alone. He already knew Simmons was gone, but Lopez also was missing from his spot. Man, that guy was weird, standing up all night like that. With a sigh Grif finally stood up and stretched his shoulders some. He should probably go find everyone, before he got yelled at. Man, hopefully they were having breakfast.

    Walking into the kitchen he found it empty. Well, they weren't here, but since _he_ was here he might as well get something to eat. Opening a cupboard he began to rummage around and holy shit, were those Oreos? Grif could hardly believe his eyes. Was he still dreaming? Snatching up the package he made his way over to the table and sat down. He was going to eat the _fuck_ out of these cookies. There was no one around to tell him he couldn't and even if there were he'd ignore them. You don't just ignore perfectly good Oreos, you eat them.

    Ripping the package open Grif was hit with the scent of the cream filled cookies. This made up for Simmons waking him, this was an awesome way to start the day! Picking up a cookie he bit into it and happily munched on his breakfast. Nothing could spoil this beautiful moment.

    "Grif! What do you think you're doing?"

    Well, O.K. _That_ could spoil the moment. Grif swallowed and looked up at his Sergeant as the older man marched into the room.

    "Uh. . . Eating?" he said before popping the other half of the cookie into his mouth.

    "Who authorized the opening of those cookies?"

    "Uh-"

    "Don't answer that because the only person who could is me and I didn't! So I ask again, what do you think you're doing, soldier?"

    "Look, Sarge, I was hungry and breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day! I couldn't possibly be expected to do anything before I have something in my stomach." Grif explained with a wave of a hand as the other reached inside to grab another cookie. Sarge stomped closer to the table and yanked the package of Oreos away from him. "Hey! I was eating those!" Grif complained.

    "Now you aren't! Get off your butt and meet us outside. And where is your helmet?"

    For a moment Grif considered making a grab for the cookies, but instead he just stood up and walked past Sarge towards the sleeping quarters again.

    "You better be getting your helmet! No lollygagging, Grif!" Sarge called out after him.

    Well, his morning was ruined once again. Grif should have learned not to get his hopes up. Any time things start looking good they go to shit again. He could still taste the sugar on his lips. Sighing with regret over the other cookies he didn't get a chance to eat Grif made his way to his bed yet again and scooped up his helmet from the floor. He wanted nothing more than to just lie down again, but he was already in trouble with Sarge so he found his feet taking him outside and away from the relative comfort of his cot. Slipping his helmet on he eventually stepped outside and found Simmons staring out into the canyon. Grif walked up next to him and followed his gaze.

    "I see you're finally up." Simmons said, not looking at him.

    "Yeah, Sarge is pissed at me again."

    "I told you to get up."

    "Nah, he's mad because he found me eating Oreos."

    "You were eating. . . Oreos." Simmons said as he finally turned to look at Grif. Grif shrugged.

    "What, is there some sort of ban on them that I don't know about?" he asked.

    "No, but those are seriously the first thing you ate this morning?"

    "Yes, yes they were, Simmons. Is that a problem?"

    Simmons seemed unable to answer. He made a few noises, but then just sighed in defeat and turned back to stare across the expanse in front of them. That was when Sarge exited the base and called out to them.

    "Alright, front and center! Got some important stuff to discuss with you two."

    Grif doubted there would ever be anything important to talk about here. Anything that was actually important was ignored so far. Like his desire to eat Oreos as soon as he woke up. Still, he turned around and walked up to Sarge to listen to what he had to say.

    "It's a new day, ladies. We need to be prepared for anythin'."

    "Like a counter attack from the Blues, Sir?"

    "I wasn't looking for input, Simmons."

    "Sorry, Sir!"

    "As I was sayin'! We need to be prepared for anythin'! As such, we are goin' to do some trainin' exercises today."

    "Oh no." Grif groaned. He thought he was done with training once he left Basic. Life just had a way to keep shitting on his hopes and dreams.

    "I want the two of you to give me ten laps around the canyon."

    "Wait. . . The whole canyon?" Simmons asked.

    "Yes, Simmons! The whole canyon! How else do you expect to do laps around the canyon?"

    "But, Sir, won't that take us right to Blue Base?" Simmons continued.

    "What's yer point?"

    "Well, if we started running up to Blue Base it would look a lot like we were engaging another attack. They'd probably open fire on us."

    "Well that's why you don't just run up to them to get shot! You run _around_ them, Simmons!" Sarge explained. Simmons sighed in response.

    "Of course, Sir, I'll keep that in mind."

    "Good, now I'll be timin' you. ON the count of three. One-"

    "Hey!" Grif interjected. "What about Lopez, huh, why aren't you making him do laps with us?"

    "Lopez doesn't need to run laps! Now no more stallin'. One, two, three, go!" Sarge snapped. Simmons took off and Grif sighed. There was no way he wasn't going to die here. He was going to die and it would be Sarge's fault. He took off on a slow jog before that could come to fruition, via Sarge shooting him, following Simmons' path. God this sucked so much.

    There was no way he was going to do ten laps, let alone ten laps around Blue Base. As soon as he was out of eyesight of Sarge he was just going to take a nap. He was going to need one anyways! First he was so rudely woken up by Simmons, then he wasn't allowed to eat to recoup his energy, and now he was being made to run. Worst way to start the day ever. This was Hell. The only thing that could make this worse were if he was being attacked by bats.

    Grif was already starting to feel his chest tighten and his breathing getting harder. Ahead he could see Simmons jogging away and he wondered what was going through the other soldier's mind. Did he seriously plan to run all the way to Blue Base and not get shot? How was he going to pull that off? It would be his own fault if he got blasted by those Blues. _He_ certainly wasn't going to follow this asinine plan. Speaking of which, right up there was a perfect indent in the rock for him to hide from Sarge in! Simmons was running right passed it. The poor fool didn't know what he was missing!

    When Grif himself finally reached the spot he leaned against the rocky wall and slid to the ground, happy to catch his breath and to be out of sight. Screw running laps. He was quite happy to just sit here for the next couple of hours. After that he'd make his way back to base and bullshit his way through any questions directed at him. He'd deal with that when the time came. For now he just busied himself with making himself comfortable and closing his eyes for a well deserved nap.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    When Grif finally opened his eyes again he couldn't be sure for how long he slept. It was just as bright as it was when Sarge sent them out to run, also as when he went to sleep last night. The sun needed to get its act together. Grif yawned and rolled his neck. Knowing his normal napping abilities he would hazard a guess that it had been around two hours. He should probably head back to base before Sarge went looking for him and found him sleeping on the job. 

    As he stood up his stomach growled. Yeah, head back to base and get some food sounded like a good plan to him. Hopefully he could find those Oreos again. If Sarge told him he couldn't he'd just point out that he needed energy if they were going to be doing any more training exercises today. He couldn't expect him to work on an empty stomach!

    The orange soldier started making his way back to Red Base at a leisurely walk. No use using up what energy he got back with his nap! He wondered if Simmons had completed his laps, or if he was killed by the Blues. It would kind of suck if he had, then Grif would only be left with Sarge and Lopez.

    When he got closer to Red Base he could see Sarge waiting for him. Uh-oh. Time to put his bullshitting to the test! Walking up to him Grif left out a lungful of air and said, "Man! What a run!"

    "Where in God's name have you been, Private?" Sarge growled.

    "Why, out running laps around the canyon, like you said, Sarge!" Grif replied in his most innocent voice.

    "I never saw you once for any of your return laps!" Sarge said, audibly irritated.

    "Oh, you must have just been looking the other way then, 'cause I totally ran by you."

    "Private Simmons was back ages ago!"

    "Yeah, I'm more about efficiency than speed."

    "Runnin' laps fast _is_ efficient, numbnuts!"

    "Well, I may not have been fast, but I made the most of my exercise!"

    "Rrrrr, just get inside and help Simmons check the weapons!" Sarge said as he angrily pointed to the entrance of the base. Grif nodded and walked inside. Yeah, sure, he'd go find Simmons, but first he was going to find some breakfast!

    Walking into the kitchen he made a beeline for where he had found the Oreos earlier, but upon inspection he found that Sarge had moved them elsewhere. Grif considered searching for the elusive cookies, but decided just to find something else to eat instead. He actually managed to find some Lucky Charms and set about making himself a bowl. If he couldn't have cream filled cookies he was going to have marshmallow riddled cereal.

    After he had finished his breakfast he tossed his bowl and spoon in the sink and started his search for Simmons. Sarge had said something about weapons, so he was probably over by the weapon lockers. Grif started heading that way and when he turned the corner there Simmons was, standing in front of the weapon lockers. He had a clipboard in his hands and it looked like he was taking inventory. Man, did that guy do anything other than inventory?

    "Yo, Sarge told me to check up on you, or, whatever." Grif said as he walked up to the maroon soldier. Simmons jumped and spun towards him.

    "Grif! Oh my god, you're alright! I was worried about you." he said.

    "Wait. . . You were?" Grif said, stopping short in surprise.

    "We had no idea where you were! I told Sarge we should go look for you, but he refused."

    "Oh, uh, thanks for the concern, I guess?" Grif said as he rubbed his neck. "I guess you're alright too. How did you get passed Blue Base?"

    "Oh, I didn't run all the way out there. I just did laps around half the canyon. No way was I going to run into enemy territory. What about you?"

    "Man, I just took a nap," Grif said with a shrug. "But don't tell Sarge!"

    "You. . . Took a nap. . ." Simmons deadpanned. The two soldiers stared at one another for a few moments before Simmons sighed and said, "I'm almost done here, but I could use your help dismantling and cleaning these guns. Sarge wants everything working in peak condition."

    "Cool, maybe Lopez can help, I'm out." Grif said as he began to walk passed Simmons. He didn't get very far before a maroon hand reached out and grabbed him.

    "Oh no you don't! You're going to stay right here and help me with this or I'm telling Sarge about you napping instead of running." Simmons said sternly.

    "Fiiiiine." Grif said with a sigh and soon enough Simmons was loading his arms with various guns and the two of them were walking to a more open area where they could get to work. When Grif complained Simmons was quick to point out that equipment maintenance was essential! Grif just rolled his eyes as they sat and worked on the guns. He wasn't very good at this. Guns were complicated and there were so many tiny parts and screws and things. The fact that Simmons seemed to so effortlessly take each gun apart down to its bare components was like magic to him. Eventually Simmons delegated him to cleaning duty and took up the task of dismantling and reassembling the guns himself. Grif wasn't very good at the cleaning either and Simmons often had to send a part back to him for a do-over, but he said this was less frustrating that watching him try to put a gun back together.

    They were still at it when Lopez came by. He silently watched the two before picking up one of the freshly reassembled guns and checking it over. He must have deemed it satisfactory as he put it back down and walked off without a word. Grif had been warily watching him the whole time and continued to stare off in the direction Lopez had left for a couple of moments before Simmons waved a hand in front of his face.

    "Hey! Stop zoning out!" he snapped as Grif blinked and looked back at the pile of parts in front of them.

    "Doesn't Lopez kind of weird you out?" he asked his fellow soldier.

    "No, now get back to work." Simmons said with an added jab to his shoulder. Grif grunted and continued cleaning the part in his hands that he had momentarily forgotten about with the arrival of Lopez His thoughts still lingered on the man in brown as they worked, however. What even was his deal and why did Sarge seemed to favor him? The guy never had to go to their dumb meetings and wasn't forced to run. Luck bastard.

    Eventually they got through all the guns and Grif never wanted to see another gun for as long as he lived, which was highly unfortunate given where he was. He started to wander off, but Simmons snatched his arm again before he could get very far.

    "Where do you think you're going?" he questioned.

    "Um. . . Somewhere where I don't have to look at all these guns anymore?"

    "You have to help me get them back to their places!"

    "Oh come on, Simmons! I already helped you carry them once! Isn't that enough?"

    " _No!_ " Simmons said in exasperation, his voice raising a couple of octaves. Before Grif could say anything more he yanked him back and shoved a gun into his chest. Soon enough Grif was once more burdened under a pile of guns and he let out a groan.

    "I hate you." he said as he narrowed his eyes at his teammate.

    "Oh shut up, this won't kill you." Simmons said as he marched off towards the weapon lockers. Grif sourly followed behind him. What was he, a pack mule? Simmons could have made two trips, he didn't need him here with him.

    When they got to the lockers Simmons set about putting away his own armful of weapons while Grif stood behind him making irritated noises. Finally Simmons spun around and said, "What?! What is your problem?!"

    "Maybe I just want you to hurry up. There are things I'd rather be doing than with my time." Grif said.

    "Oh really? What could you _possibly_ be doing right now if you weren't here?"

    "I could be having another nap, for one thing." 

    "Yes, because that's _such_ a productive use of your time!"

    "Who said anything about being productive?"

    "You are the worst kind of person, you know that?" Simmons said as he went back to putting away the guns, shoving them with a little more force than necessary into their places.

    "And why is that?" Grif asked as he scowled at the other man.

    "Because," Simmons said, spinning around to face him again, "You don't want to contribute anything. You don't want to _do_ anything. You're just taking up space and resources. I don't even know why you're here!" As he ranted he grabbed at the weapons Grif was holding, shoving them into the lockers.

    "Yeah? Well that makes two of us, then! I never asked to be here doing all this crap!" Grif shot back. Then he shoved the rest of the guns into Simmons' arms and flipped him off before storming away. "Fuck you, Simmons," he said as he left, "I don't need this shit right now."

    Screw Simmons! He didn't know anything about Grif! Passing judgement on him like that. Maybe if Sarge wasn't a complete psycho he'd be up for following orders? O.K., yeah, that wasn't true, but Simmons didn't know that! Saying he was a waste of space. . . He wasn't. Everyone back home had called him that too. This is why he stopped caring! Nobody cared about him, so why should he care?

    Stomping into the sleeping quarters he yanked his bag onto his bed and rooted around for a pack of cigarettes. Forget taking a nap, he needed a smoke. Ripping his helmet off he shoved a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He needed to get out of here. Get outside. Marching out of the room he made his way down the halls until he came to the exit. Puffing away at his cigarette he wandered around the outside of the base until he came to a shady spot and leaned against the wall.

    "Grif! What do you think yer doin' outside without yer helmet?"

    God damn it. He was never going to get a moment of peace, was he? Looking up Grif saw Sarge coming towards him and said, "Just taking a smoke break, Sarge."

    "Who said you could do that?" Sarge questioned as he stopped in front of him.

    "Simmons." Grif was quick to lie in a flat tone.

    "He's not authorized to do that! Now stop standin' here and go get yer helmet! I don't want to see you without it again! You hear me?"

    "Yeah, yeah, fine." Grif said sourly as he pushed off from the wall and started walking back to the entrance, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. Man, he couldn't he get a couple minutes to smoke. This sucked.

    As he picked his helmet back up from where he left it an idea struck him. Sarge didn't say he couldn't _smoke_. Just that he couldn't be without his helmet. If he was careful he could probably get the helmet back on without crushing his cigarette! 

    With a little finesse Grif accomplished his task. It was a tad awkward, because he had to be careful the tip didn't brush against the inside of his helmet for fear of it being put out, but it worked well enough. Rather proud of himself Grif sauntered right back outside and once more was leaning against the walls of the base, releasing puffs of smoke from his air filters. You just needed to know how to cheat the system.

    He stood like like for a good while, without further interruptions. In fact, nobody came by except for Lopez. Like usual the other soldier said nothing and just went about his business moving a heavy looking box. Grif was thankful he seemed to have that under control and didn't feel the need to rope him in to help. Lopez was pretty alright after all, he figured.

    When he was finally done with his cigarette he chewed up the stub and swallowed it. This wasn't the first time he had done this, but he usually refrained from this practice as cigarettes didn't taste all that great. Grif just knew that if he took his helmet off to dispose of it, however, that Sarge would be right there yelling at him about not having his helmet on. He didn't need yet _another_ confrontation before lunch.

    Speaking of confrontation there was Simmons walking up to him. Great, Grif couldn't wait to hear what he had to say to him this time.

    "Hey, Grif!" the maroon solider called out as he approached, "Sarge told me to come get you for more training."

    "More? I'm still tired from running laps!" Grif complained.

    "What? How can you be tired?! You said you took a nap!"

    "Pft, details. Did Sarge say what we were doing?"

    "He said target practice and. . ." Simmons paused and tilted his head up slightly. "Have you been smoking out here?"

    "Maybe."

    Simmons sighed irritably and said, "Whatever, let's go." Shaking his head he turned around and walked off. Grif pushed himself off from the wall and followed after him. Around the other side of the base they came upon Sarge and Lopez. Next to them was a fold-able table with some guns laid out on it and in the distance Grif could see some boxes with traffic cones lined up on them.

    "Now that we're all here," Sarge said, "It's time to begin yer trainin'! Simmons, pick up a gun a try to blast all of the targets. Lopez and I will be watching from over there."

    "Yes, Sir!" Simmons said as the red and brown soldiers wandered further ahead. Once they were about equal distance from the boxes and table they stopped and Sarge called out, "Alright, get to shootin'!"

    Simmons raised the pistol he had selected and took aim. The shot rang out and Grif watched as the first cone was knocked over. Grif couldn't help but wonder why they have all these traffic cones in the first place. Plus, what were they going to do with them once they had a bunch of holes in them from shooting at them like this? As he was pondering this Simmons shot the second cone as well. Lining up for his third shot he pulled the trigger and despite hearing the gun go off Grif didn't see the third cone move an inch.

    "You missed." he commented dryly.

    "I can see that for myself, dipshit." Simmons said through gritted teeth.

    "Grif! Stop distracting Simmons!" Sarge called out from where he was observing the two.

    Simmons lined up his next shot and the cone wobbled in place as the bullet went straight through the middle.

    "Excellent shot, Simmons." Sarge said.

    "Thank you, Sir!" Simmons called out before aiming at the next cone. That one was also hit and Simmons finally put down his gun.

    "Alright, set them back up, Lopez." Sarge ordered and the brown soldier wandered over to the cones to re-position them. Once they had all been neatly placed in a line once more he returned to his station next to their commanding officer who turned to look at Grif. "You're up next, turd-stain."

    A little irked Grif imagined the first cone was Sarge's face as he selected his gun. Raising it he pulled the trigger and missed. Cursing softly under his breath he moved on to the next cone. He missed again.

    "Come on, Grif! Simmons only missed one shot!" Sarge said.

    "I'm trying my best here!" Grif cried out in frustration as he lined up his next shot. The bullet went sailing passed his target and the cone remained untouched.

    "You missed." Simmons said, sounding rather smug.

    "Dagnabbit, can't you do anythin' right?" Sarge said. "Lopez, why don't you go up there and show him how it's done?"

    Fine, Grif didn't want to be doing this anyway. Sarge didn't want to let him finish shooting the rest of the cones set up? Perfect. Less effort he could be expending. Throwing his gun on the table he slumped back over to his previous spot, giving Lopez room to shoot. Grif refused to admit that there was a small part of him that was disappointed he wasn't given a full chance.

    Lopez brought up his pistol and in quick succession all six cones went flying off the boxes. Grif swore if he had blinked he would have missed it. He shared a shocked look with Simmons as the brown soldier lowered his weapon.

    "You see? Great work, Lopez!" Sarge said, jovially. "Now go set them back up and give these two another go." The silent soldier nodded and Grif had the sinking feeling that this was going to be a very long day.


	7. Settled in Blood Gulch

    Grif let out a sigh as he gazed out across the canyon. He had already been here for a whole week. It was the same weird feeling he had back at Basic. The feeling that he had only just gotten there, but also that he had been there for years. It wasn't a good feeling. Even though Blue Team had yet to launch a counter attack on them it was still torturous just _being_ here. At first he had been a bit nervous due to the lack of blue soldiers descending upon their base, but after a couple of days he got over it. If they weren't going to attack that was just peachy with him. No, what was bothering him was his own team.

    Sarge was always yelling at him about something or other and while he hadn't yet sent them out on another crazy mission he hadn't gotten any less senile. Simmons was an annoying asshole who seemed to latch onto Sarge's every word. At least Grif could talk to him, he figured. Sarge obviously wasn't someone you could chat with, or at least someone _he_ couldn't, and then Lopez remained as tight-lipped as ever. Despite never saying a word Grif had learned over the week not to mess with the guy. He had accidentally knocked over the radio one day and Lopez had to fix it, which lead to Grif receiving the scariest silent stare of his life. Yeah, no, every single one of them was awful in their own way.

    Suddenly Grif was jolted out of his reminiscing by a bullet bouncing off the top of the base a few feet from him.

    "Shit!" he cried out as he jumped back. Quickly scanning the area again he saw two Blue Team members. Aw man, can't a guy zone out and bemoan his life in peace? Jumping behind one of the protrusions on the roof of the base he called out in a panicking voice, "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"

    "Yeah, you better hide! Take that, Red!"

    "Dude, you didn't even hit him. Were you trying to hit him?"

    "Shut the fuck up, Tucker!"

    The Blues' bickering was cut short as another shot rang out, followed by a triumphant cry that could only belong to Sarge.

    "Consider that you're warning, Blues! There's plenty more where that came from!" Sarge said. Grif took a peek out from his hiding spot, Sarge and Simmons were below him with their guns pointed at the two Blues.

    "Where's your third member?" Simmons called out.

    "Like we'd tell you anything, Red. Trying to make up give up our strategy?"

    "We have a strategy?"

     _"Shut the fuck up!"_

    "Wait a minute," Sarge suddenly said. "You don't sound the same, Green Guy."

    "I'm not green!"

    "Then how'd you know we were talking about you?" Simmons said smugly.

    "Everybody shut the fuck up! You better be ready to surrender, Reds, we're totally going to kick your asses and take your flag so you might as well save yourself the pain."

    "Over my dead body yer takin' our flag!"

    "That can be arranged."

    A shot rang out and the two Blues jumped back from the small hole suddenly in the ground. The four soldiers on the ground all turned to look up at Grif, his gun out and aimed at the Blues.

    "ATTACK!" Sarge yelled and then all Hell broke loose.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Excellent work out there today, Simmons!"

    "Thank you, Sir!"

    It really hadn't been that hard to drive Blue Team off. Neither side had sustained any serious injuries and Grif suspected they ran off because they were out of ammo. Still, Sarge was in high spirits due to their victory and Grif had to admit that it felt good to win. Speaking of Sarge the red soldier now turned towards him as they all stood in the Flag Room and Grif warily waited for him to yell at him about not doing enough or something.

    "I suppose even small improvements should be noted. You shot at the enemy while they were distracted. Keep it up." he said with a curt nod.

    "Uh, right. I'll try to do that, Sir." Grif said, returning the nod. He actually wasn't really sure what Sarge had meant by that. It sort of sounded like praise? Also that he was supposed to keep attacking the Blues while they weren't paying attention to him? How was he supposed to do that? Constantly keep them distracted? That sounded a lot harder than just simply shooting them. In any case Sarge wasn't angry at him, and that's what counted. An angry Sarge spelled trouble for him. A mildly confusing Sarge just seemed to be the closest thing to a friendly Sarge there was. At least for him.

    "Well, I gotta get back to what I was doin' before we were so rudely interrupted. As you were, soldiers!" Sarge said before he turned on his heel and walked off.

    "I'm gonna get something to eat." Grif said after Sarge had left.

    "Already?" Simmons asked, as Grif made his way towards the hall. "We only ate a couple hours ago."

    "What can I say? Fighting really works up an appetite." Grif said over his shoulder as he walked out. He was surprised when Simmons followed him. He quirked a brow under his helmet as he looked at his teammate. "You coming with?" he asked as they walked.

    "I might as well, just to make sure you don't eat all of our food until the next supply drop." Simmons said. Grif gave him a little shove in response and received a shove back for his troubles. "Don't push me." Simmons said in a somewhat annoyed voice and the two remained silent for the rest of their journey to the kitchen.

    Once they reached their destination Grif opened the cupboards to grab a bag of chips. Walking over to the table he put the bag down and took off his helmet before sitting down to eat. All the while Simmons hung back against the wall, watching him. Right as Grif opened the bag and reached inside he finally spoke up again.

    "Don't you think it's odd that Blue Team took so long to attack us?" he asked, his arms crossed.

    "Huh?" Grif said as he looked over at him.

    "I mean, we attacked them the _day we arrived_. You'd think there would have been some kind of counter attack before now."

    "I guess," Grif said before popping some chips in his mouth. "Maybe they're just lazy?"

    "God, how many times have I told you to swallow before talking?" Simmons sighed as he uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips. "Besides, I doubt anyone is lazier than you."

    "Never said they were lazier. I'm proud of my title as the laziest person." Grif said before crunching into a particularly large chip.

    "You're _proud_ of that?" Simmons questioned with a slight laugh in his voice.

    "Hell yeah, dude! The lazier you are the less people expect out of you. The less they expect the less they ask of you which means I get to cruise along without having to do anything. Easy riding." Grif explained as his hand explored the inside of the chip bag for more.

    "Yeah? And how has that been working out with Sarge?" Simmons asked, crossing his arms again.

    "Dude, it's only been a week and the guy has already given up on getting me to do push-ups! Sure, he still _tells_ me to do them, but he's stopped waiting for me to actually do them. Give me a month and I bet he'll stop giving me exercise routines all together."

    Simmons shook his head and said, "You're a real piece of work, Grif."

    "No, I'm a real piece of _not_ work. Get it right." Grif said with a grin.

    "That's stupid. _You're_ stupid." Simmons said.

    Grif ignored him in favor of eating more chips. The crunching of salted potato products filled the silence that now hung between the two men. Jeeze, was he really just going to stand there and watch him eat? The least the guy could do is take a seat instead of hovering by the door like that. Simmons was so weird.

    Eventually Grif finished off the bag and began licking the oil and salt from his fingers. He heard Simmons make a disgusted noise and looked over at him.

    "Are you seriously licking your _gloves_?" Simmons questioned him.

    "Uh, yeah?" Grif said.

    "You could just wipe them off with a towel, or something," Simmons said. "I can't believe you're licking your _gloves_."

    "Pft, what do you care? If you don't want to lick salty goodness from your gloves don't do it. What does it matter what I do with my own gloves?" Grif shot back before crunching up the now empty bag between his hands and tossing it at him. Simmons made a noise of surprise and dodged the projectile. It bounced off the wall, unfurling in the process, and floated to the floor.

    "Pick that up!" The maroon soldier ordered.

    "You're closer, you pick it up." Grif said.

    "I'm not the one who threw it on the ground!"

    "I didn't throw it on the ground, I threw it at _you_."

    "And _why_ did you throw it at me?"

    "Because you were ragging on me." Grif said with a shrug as he stood up. Simmons stiffened, but Grif ignored him in favor of walking over to the cupboards to find another snack.

    "Aren't you going to pick it up?" Simmons asked as Grif grabbed a box of crackers and walked back over to the table.

    "Yeah, sure, I'll pick it up when I'm done."

    "No! You should pick it up _now_!"

    "Why?"

    "Because it's a _mess_!"

    Grif stared at the crumpled chip bag on the floor for a beat before looking at Simmons, a brow raised.

    "That's a mess?" he asked in monotone.

     _"Yes!"_ Simmons exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

    "One chip bag on the floor is a mess. Wow, dude, you have some messed up perceptions."

    "I'm not the one with messed up perceptions! Everything just runs smoother and looks nicer when everything is in its proper place." Simmons said, annoyed.

    "Yeah, well, you can put up with the mess for a little bit while I finish my snack." Grif said as he opened the box and shoved his hand inside.

    "You should already be done with your snack." Simmons grumped as he crossed his arms.

    "Look. if it bothers you so much you can just leave." Grif said before shoving a couple of crackers in his mouth.

    "If I leave you'll just keep eating our supplies and never clean up after yourself."

    "I'm not gonna eat _everything_ , Jesus Christ, so you can stop watching me like a hawk," Grif said with a roll of his eyes. "If I ate up all of our food that wouldn't leave me anything to eat later."

    "Well you sure have me fooled with the way you eat." Simmons said before promptly walking up to him and snatching the box of crackers out of his hand.

    "Hey!" Grif exclaimed as he reached for the box, but Simmons held it out of his reach.

    "Pick up your trash." Simmons said, looking down at him. Grif glared back up at him from his seat for a while before getting up and shouldering his way passed the maroon soldier. He walked over to where the chip bag laid on the floor and swiped it up. Giving Simmons another glare he walked over to the trash and threw the offending item away.

    "There, happy?" he groused as he turned back to Simmons.

    "Very." Simmons said as he closed the box of crackers and walked up to the cupboards.

    "Hey, what are you doing?" Grif asked as Simmons went passed him.

    "Putting these away." Simmons said matter-of-factly as he opened a cupboard and slid the box back inside.

    "But I was eating those!" Grif cried out.

    "You've had plenty, you can wait until meal time for more food." Simmons said, closing the cupboard and standing in front of it. Grif frowned at the fact that he now blocked his way.

    "Are you trying to starve me, Simmons?" he whined at the other man. Simmons laughed in response.

    "It'll take more than me putting some crackers away to starve you, Grif."

    Before Grif could say anything in response they were interrupted by the sound of Sarge's voice.

    "Red Team! To the Flag Room!"

    "Looks like I stopped your snacking just in time." Simmons said, sounding quite pleased with himself. Grif grumbled at him as the other man marched out of the kitchen to heed the call of their C.O. For a moment he entertained the idea of just opening the cupboard and retrieving the crackers now that he was no longer guarding them, but he tossed the notion aside. He didn't want to deal with Sarge yelling at him for not coming at his command. Speaking of avoiding Sarge's wrath Grif wandered back over to the table and picked up his helmet. Clipping it back into place he followed after Simmons and headed to the Flag Room.

    What on earth could Sarge want with them now? They just had a meeting in here only a couple of minute ago! Those couple of minutes, though, seemed to be just enough time for the fold-able table and a set of matching chairs to have been set up. Grif blinked at the set-up and then looked at Sarge, who was standing next to Lopez. Simmons was off to the side, also surveying the furniture.

    "Take a seat, ladies." Sarge said with a nod of his head. Grif did as he was told and Simmons followed suit. Once they were seated Sarge turned to Lopez and said, "Alright, set up the projection."

    As the red soldier took his own seat Lopez leaned over the table and prodded a device set in the middle of it. A couple of lights blinked and then a holograph of the canyon was projected above it. Grif gazed at it without much interest. Yep, that sure was the canyon. Just as boring in blue light as the real thing.

    "Seein' as how you boys have been here for a week now I felt it time to have a staff meetin'." Sarge said. Grif groaned.

    "I think it would be best if we had regular staff meetings, Sir," Simmons said. "On a weekly basis would be the best."

    "You're right on that, Simmons." Sarge said and Grif groaned again. He'd have to put up with these boring meetings every week? Maybe the Blues could shoot him and put him out of his misery. Sarge turned his head towards him and he was sure fixing him with a glare.

    "Do you have something to say, Private Grif?" he asked, an implied threat in his tone.

    "No, Sir." Grif said dejectedly as he leaned back in his chair.

    "Good. Movin' on we need to get the upper hand on that blue scum on the other side of the canyon." At Sarge's words Lopez fiddled around and got the projected map to zoom in on Blue Base. "We did well today fendin' them off of our own base, but we need to get on the offensive!"

    It was then Grif started to tune him out. Closing his eyes he took in a deep breath and breathed out his nose. He wasn't going to be missing much. Sarge was just going to yap on about how much Blue Team sucked and Red was full of valor and they needed to shoot their guns at them a bunch and blah blah blah. Simmons would praise his every word and neither of them would notice his lack of participation. He figured if Lopez got away without ever contributing anything to the conversation what was the big deal if he tapped out? Might as well take a nap and digest those chips while he was here.


	8. Usual Bloodgulch

    When Grif opened his eyes again the first thing he noticed was that Sarge and Simmons were still talking. There was also now a piece of paper sitting in front of him on the table. His eyes skimmed over it and noted the letterhead at the top signifying that it was from Command. It looked like it was some sort of order, or something. Though he wasn't reading it all that carefully Grif couldn't find anything important in the document. Seemed like a lot of the stuff Sarge was always going on about. Red Team was the best, they needed to beat the Blues, work harder, that kind of stuff. Speaking of Sarge him and Simmons seemed to be discussing something about charts. Whatever, he didn't care.

    The hologram had apparently been shut off during his nap. Looking around the room Grif spied Lopez standing at attention in the corner like he usually did when he wasn't following orders from Sarge. If it wasn't for how unnaturally stiff he always was Grif would swear he was sneaking in naps just like he did. They guy never seemed to relax, even at night (or what passed for night in Blood Gulch, stupid sun). Why couldn't he sit down at the table with the rest of them? Just looking at him standing over there made Grif feel tired. Or maybe that was the post-nap grogginess.

    "Well, I think that's enough talkin' for one day." Sarge said with a sigh as he stood up from his chair.

    "I think we made a lot of progress today, Sir!" Simmons said as he stood as well.

    "We're done here. You boys can clear all this up. I'll be in my quarters." Sarge said before strolling out of the room. A customary "Yes, Sir!" followed after him from Simmons before the man in maroon started picking up the sheets that Grif suspected were the same as the one he had briefly skimmed over.

    "Lopez!" Simmons said, turning toward their silent companion. "Can you take these to the shredder?"

    As to be expected by now Lopez didn't say anything in response and simply walked over to take the offered papers. Once he had them in hand he turned on his heel and left the room.

    "Why are you shredding those?" Grif asked as he watched him leave.

    "It's standard protocol to destroy our plans so they don't fall into enemy hands." Simmons replied as he bent over to fold his chair.

    "Yeah, because we'd just be ruined if Blue Team got their hands of that critical information." Grif said with a roll of his eyes.

    "It's protocol." Simmons repeated, leaning his folded chair against the wall. "Are you just going to sit there?" he asked, turning to look at Grif.

    "Pretty much, yeah." Grif replied, not moving from his seat. 

    Simmons gave a little huff and put his hands on his hips as he said, "Get off your ass, Grif, and help me."

    "Like it's that hard to put this stuff away." Grif scoffed.

    "Then it shouldn't be that big of a deal to do something. Besides, you'll have to get up eventually so we can put your chair away." Simmons said as he began to fold Sarge's seat. With a sigh Grif relented and stood up to deal with his own chair. He followed Simmons' motion and leaned it against the wall after the maroon soldier had deposited their commander's chair. It was then Lopez came strolling back in. Seeing him Simmons said, "Great, you're back, you can put the hologram projector back for us while we deal with the table."

    Lopez gave a nod and picked up the device before once more exiting the room. As he walked out Simmons wandered over to the far end of the table and looked over at Grif.

    "O.K., help me turn this over and fold up the legs." he said. Silently Grif did as he was told and soon enough they had the table on its side and they pushed the legs in. Seeing as how that was done Grif figured he had finished his duty and started for the door when Simmons' sharp voice caught him.

    "Don't go running off! We aren't done yet!" he said.

    "Come _on_ Simmons! What else do you want me to do?" Grif whined as he turned to face him.

    "Uh, how about actually putting this stuff away? We can't just leave it here."

    "Let me guess, it would be a _mess_." Grif said, not bothering to hide his bitter tone.

    Simmons ignored the comment and motioned toward the table leaning against his legs as he said, "Here, you can take this. I'll take the chairs."

    "Fiiiiine." Grif said with a sigh as he walked over and picked up the table. Simmons went to the wall and tucked the three chairs under one arm before turning back and making his way out the door, Grif following after him.

    Once they had finally unloaded the furniture in a supply closet Simmons turned to him and said, "Was that so hard?"

    "I guess not." Grif said with a shrug.

    "Really, you are such a pain to work with." Simmons said as he brushed passed Grif and down the hall. Grif frowned and followed after him.

    "You're not much better." he said as he caught up.

    " _I'm_ not the problem. Have you seen how much Sarge yells at you?" Simmons replied, not slowing his pace or looking at Grif.

    "Well sorry for refusing to kiss his ass like you do." Grif said with a roll of his eyes.

    "It wouldn't kill you to try and be more pleasant."

    "Because you're full of sunshine and daisies yourself."

    "Look, you can't just throw back all my complaints with 'I don't like you either'." Simmons said, finally stopping and looking at him.

    "But I don't." Grif stated simply. Simmons sighed and facepalmed. It must have felt pretty stupid with his helmet on because he quickly dropped his hand.

    "Neither of us like each other and yet we spend most of our time together having pointless conversations like this."

    "Well there's not much else to do," Grif pointed out. "and while you're not my favorite person you're still leagues above everyone else here."

     _"Thanks."_ Simmons replied sarcastically.

    "We could always bitch about something other than each other." Grif offered with a shrug.

    Simmons gave a sigh and said, "Is there something specific you wanted to complain about? Or are you just bored and need to keep bothering me?"

    The orange soldier didn't want to admit that it was the latter, because that would probably just continue their current bickering about each other. So instead he quickly racked his brain for some annoyance he wanted to get off his chest.

    "Why did Pluto have to be Mickey's pet while Goofy got to drive a car and stuff?"

    "What?" Simmons blurted out in surprise.

    "They're both dogs, right?" Grif pushed.

    Simmons stared at him for a beat before bursting into laughter and saying, "Really? That's what you want to talk about?"

    Grif gave another shrug and said, "Why not?"

    "You know what? Fuck it, sure, let's talk about this absurd topic." Simmons said, still chuckling to himself.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    It was the next day and Grif found himself once more standing on top of the base gazing out across the canyon. This time, however, he wasn't just zoning out. He was keeping watch for Sarge and Simmons, who had gone on a scouting trip up to Blue Base. Which, in all honesty, meant that he was still zoning out, but this time he was ignoring a job he had been given at the same time. That's what Grif liked to call multitasking.

    He looked up at the sunny sky and sighed. Briefly he thought about shedding his armor and letting his skin soak in the rays. It had been so long since he had actually felt the kiss of the sun. This armor wasn't only good for blocking out bullets. Then again it was its bullet blocking property that made him keep it on. It would be just his luck if Sarge and Simmons came running back with the Blues hots on their heels and he'd get shot. Nah, better keep it on and stop getting nostalgic. Despite the similarities in weather this wasn't home and the sooner he stopped longing for his old past times the sooner he could stop wishing he was there and not here.

    He didn't think he would miss home as much as he did. He thought he was happy to leave it behind. Then again, it wasn't so much home he missed as it was that he hated being a soldier. Being a soldier sucked. A soldier's life style was not made for him and he was miserable for it. It made him stand around and bemoan his life rather than focusing on the important things, like if Batman could beat Superman in a fight. He should be thinking of cool things like that! This is what being a soldier did to him. It made him think lame emo stuff instead of kickass things.

    As if to prove to himself that he was cool Grif vowed to cease all melancholy thoughts and use his precious alone time to rank the best super powers. He only got as far as deciding talking to animals was lame when he got distracted by the sight of two red figures approaching the base. Oh yeah, that's why he was out here.

    "Hey, Lopez!" he called out. "Looks like they're back!"

    He wasn't really sure why he felt the need to alert Lopez. The guy probably already knew they were here. Plus it never seemed like he was on a need to know basis of where anyone was. Really it was only Sarge and Simmons that cared about that. It was something he shared in common with they guy he supposed. They both just seemed to do their own thing most of the time. It was a shame Lopez wasn't much of a conversationalist.

    As the rest of the team continued their way to the base he turned around and went down the ramp. Maybe now that they were back he could find himself a nice cozy spot to take a nap. As he stepped off the ramp he was accosted by Sarge.

    "Grif!" he said as he blocked his path. "I need you for something."

    "Do you really _need_ me?" Grif groaned.

    "Technically, no, but it's more fun to use a live target!"

    "WHAT!?"

    "Oh quit you're whinin' and come with me." Sarge said and before Grif could do anything he had his arm locked in a vice-like grip and was dragging him along. As the two of them made their way they passed by Simmons.

    "Simmons!" Grif cried out as he was dragged away. "Help me! I'm being kidnapped!"

    "It's only Sarge." Simmons said. "Just do what he wants."

    Grif pouted behind his helmet as Simmons disappeared from view and Sarge lead him further from the base. What a lousy teammate Simmons was.

    "Alright, this should be good enough!" Sarge finally said as he came to a stop and released Grif's arm.

    "What exactly do you want from me?" Grif asked as he got his feet under him.

    "All you need to do, Grif, is stand over by that rock as I shoot at you."

    "Oh fuck that! I'm not letting you shoot me!" Grif cried out.

    "You only get shot if you don't move fast enough! Think of it as agility training." Sarge said. Grif could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

    "I'm still going to have to decline your offer, Sir." Grif said, crossing his arms. Suddenly he found the barrel of a gun pointed right at his face.

    "Listen here, either you go over there are run around like that duck shooting game, or I'm going to shoot you right here." Sarge said as he kept his weapon steadily pointed at Grif.

    "So you're giving me the option to get shot or to get shot. . ." Grif said slowly, staring at the gun pointed at him with his hands held up in defense.

    "I'm givin' you the choice, aren't I?"

    Grif sighed and bowed his head before saying, "Fine, whatever, I'll go over by the rock."

    "Good man! Now hop to it!"

    "Hey, why aren't you doing this to Simmons, huh?" Grif called out over his shoulder as he walked over to the rock Sarge had pointed out to him.

    "This is the best use of you I've come up with so far. Simmons can do other things." Sarge said, following his progress with his gun.

    "Glad to be of service." Grif muttered under his breath.

    "Now, get ready to dodge, dirtbag!"

    Grif didn't even have time to register what Sarge had said before a shot rang out. With a yelp he dove behind the rock. Sticking his head out he yelled, "Jesus Christ! Give me some kind of warning before you start!"

    "I did warn ya!" Sarge called out, followed by another shot at Grif that he quickly ducked away from.

    "Oh come on, Grif! You can't just hide behind that rock the whole time!" Sarge called out.

    "Screw you I can't!"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "I'm telling you, that guy is going to kill us one of these days."

    "You maybe."

    Grif had somehow managed to survive Sarge's impromptu "agility" training and then proceeded to complain bitterly about it to Simmons. The maroon soldier was meticulously cleaning his pistol while Grif was sourly slumped next to him with his arms crossed.

    "You'd think he would have gotten his desire to shoot things out of his system while you guys were up at Blue Base." he grumbled.

    "We were on a _scouting_ mission Grif. Shooting at them kind of ruins the whole point." Simmons said.

    "Knowing him that shouldn't have stopped him. Did you guys even find out anything, or was it just a lot of rock and dirt?"

    "Well, we confirmed that there's only two people at Blue Base, not three."

    "So Sarge was wrong?" Grif asked with a tilt of his head.

    "He seemed convinced one of them ate the other member of their team and gained his power."

    ". . . That's stupid."

    "Are you surprised?"

    ". . . No."

    "In any case, it means that we have them outnumbered. We'll be launching an assault on them soon." Simmons said as he snapped his weapon back together.

    "Ugh, already?" Grif groaned.

    "What do you mean already? We talked about this during the meeting. We're supposed to be attacking them and we haven't been for the past week!" Simmons said, turning his head towards his orange team mate.

    "Yeah, I just want to avoid it for as long as possible." Grif said, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.

    "You're a terrible soldier." Simmons said, looking back down at his gun.

    "Are you surprised?" Grif asked, a smile playing on his lips as he echoed back Simmons' earlier question.

    "No." Simmons said with a sigh as he echoed Grif's answer.

    ". . . Hey, Simmons, I've been meaning to ask you something. . ."

    "What?" Simmons asked, not sounding like he particularly wanted to hear the question.

    "I remember when we first got here you said we could change the settings on the clock in our helmets."

    ". . . Yeah?" Simmons prompted when Grif didn't continue.

    "Is one of those settings a count down clock?"

    "Yeah, why?"

    "Do you think you could show me how to do that?"

    "What do you need a count down for, your next meal?" Simmons sneered.

    "No. Besides, does it matter what I need it for? If you can't show me that's fine. I mean, it probably isn't even a real thing anyway."

    "It is too a real thing! Here, take off your helmet and I'll show you how to do it."

    Grif had to hide his smirk as he removed his helmet. He knew he could get Simmons to agree. The guy couldn't resist trying to show him up. Grif just wouldn't mention that he was going to use this feature to alert him when Battlestar Galactica would be on. Somehow he'd find a way to get T.V. out here, or at least some internet to stream it. This count down would be his time limit to complete this important task. He was not going to miss his favorite show just because he was in the middle of nowhere.


	9. Fighting in Blood Gulch

    "Can't we put this off until tomorrow?"

    "We've put this off long enough! Mark my words there will be blood spilled today! Nasty Blue blood!"

    "But isn't all blood red?"

    "Dagnabbit, Grif! Just just up."

    Sarge continue to mumble angrily to himself as they marched across the canyon. Simmons turned to Grif and gave him a disapproving shake of his head as they followed their commander. Grif supposed it wouldn't do him any good to continue whining. Sarge had been practically giddy when he woke them up that morning to get ready for the upcoming battle. The threat of violence really seemed to liven his mood. There wasn't any way Grif was going to get out of this. Save getting his brains blown out right now, but that option didn't strike him as particularly favorable. He preferred being alive, even if it meant he had to march across this dusty, hot canyon to shoot a bunch of guys he didn't even really know.

    If he was a better person he might have felt bad that he had been tasked to kill some strangers he had no beef with. Well, to be honest, he did have a couple of gripes against them. Mainly that they had shot at him the other day, and that their very existence seemed to enrage Sarge who then complained his ear off about them. Killing them might get him to shut up for a moment. You know what? Fuck it. Grif wasn't even going to feel bad about not feeling bad. Screw being a better person, or whatever. These guys were dicks. He wouldn't even be here if it weren't for them.

    Man, was this how Sarge felt all the time? Nah, Sarge loved violence. He wasn't bitter at all. God, why did the guy have to love everything military? Sure, Simmons seemed to love following orders and being told to kill guys, but at least he had the sensibility to think some of it was bullshit. Sarge was just a lunatic that had found his calling, Grif supposed. Where else was it O.K. for a blood thirsty maniac to walk around with a gun and threaten people? The military sure brought out the best in people, didn't it?

    "Will you stop sighing like that?"

    Grif blinked and looked over at Simmons, muttering a confused, "Huh?"

    "You've been sighing ever since Sarge told you to shut up. It's insufferable." Simmons said.

    "Oh," Grif blinked. "Sorry, guess I was just lost in my own thoughts."

    "Well get your act together, we're almost at Blue Base."

    Grif looked ahead of them and sure enough, there was the opposing base. He really had been lost in his own thoughts. He noted Sarge ducking behind a rock and he followed suit along with Simmons. With the three of them huddled out of view Sarge turned toward them and said, "Alright, boys, it's time we take these vermin out! On my count we're gonna open fire."

    "Is anyone even outside right now?" Grif asked.

    "Look for yourself."

    Grif poked his head out from behind the rock and scanned the area. He was about to tell Sarge that he didn't see anyone when a figure in light blue armor walked out of the base. Ducking back down he said, "Well, I see one asshole."

    "Soon there will be one less!" Sarge said, sounding positively delighted.

    "I'm sure you're plan will work this time, Sir!" Simmons said.

    " 'Course it will! Now be ready on my mark. One. . . Two. . ."

    "You know I can hear you assholes, right?"

    The team froze as they heard the enemy call out to them. Grif figured this was just typical. They hadn't done a very good job at hiding themselves, to be honest.

    "Why don't you guys just turn around and go back to your little Red Base?" the Blue taunted.

    "Not on yer life, Blue!" Sarge bellowed as he stood up. Grif was sure he was about to watch his C.O. fall over dead from a headshot any second, but when he (unfortunately) stayed standing he ventured peeking around the rock again. The Blue he had seen walk out of the base was looking at them, but he didn't even bother to have his gun raised, and he hadn't called for help from his buddy yet. Was this guy an idiot?

    "We've got you outnumbered! Why would we run away?" Simmons called out as he too stood up.

    "Uh, because we're going to kick your ass?"

    "Not likely!" Sarge said before firing at the Blue.

    "Ah! What the fuck, man?! I wasn't ready!" the man screamed as he dodged out of the way.

    "You have to always be ready in war! Take 'im down, boys!"

    As Sarge bellowed Grif heard the distinct sound of a rock being kicked and a hissed "Fuck!". Before either he or Simmons could follower their commander's orders they whipped around to stare at the other member of Blue Team, awkwardly standing behind them.

    "Oh shit." said the man.

    Simmons fired at the teal soldier as the other man cried out, "I told you this was a bad idea!" and dived out of the way.

    "Stay alive! I'll cover you!" the Blue back at their base responded as he shot back at the group.

    "Dude! Don't shoot while I'm over here! You might hit me!" the teal one screamed as he began running away from the bullets both Grif and Simmons were firing at him. Meanwhile Sarge was busy peppering his teammate.

    "Yeah, you better run, Blue!" Simmons called out smugly as he fired.

    "We don't want him runnin' Simmons, we want him dead!" Sarge said.

    "Sorry, Sir! Yes, Sir!"

    Grif wanted to roll his eyes, but he was a bit preoccupied trying to avoid dying himself. He was so thankful for this rock, even if he shared it with these other two idiots. If he actually stopped to think about it, though, he'd be surprised that so far no one seemed to have been hit even with Red Team taking cover behind a rock. The Blues had no such cover and one had practically been on top of them yet everyone so far was unharmed. Grif would have marveled at either their combined terrible luck for not hitting anyone or their good luck at not getting hit, but his mind was too busy firing and avoiding bullets to think of such things.

    Eventually the teal enemy found his own rock to hide behind and fire from. Grif couldn't decide whether to shoot at him or the other one. Sarge and Simmons seemed to be equally as undecided as they kept dividing their attention between the two. It probably would have been better for each of them to focus on one, instead of shooting at both of them, but their leader didn't seem to be giving out any orders at the moment and Grif was just worried about either of the targets shooting him.

    The fight seemed to go one forever, in his brain. He could hardly remember the last time he ate, or had a good nap. It was pretty awful, all things considered, but Simmons said something to break him out of his funk.

    "Sir, I'm running low on ammo."

    At that comment Grif looked over his own equipment and realized he was on his last round. He said as much between the gun fire. Sarge was silent for a moment or two before he said, "We'll get through this."

    "But, Sir! The enemy is right by their base, they can easily resupply while we'll eventually run out and be sitting ducks!" Simmons said.

    Sarge was once more quiet and Grif could almost see the gears turning in his head. Suddenly the old man said, "Grif, you need to cause a distraction while we pull out."

    "A distraction? What do you want me to do?" Grif questioned, holding back on his rising panic.

    "You could always run out there and sacrifice your body so that your commanding officer has a chance to get away."

    "Sir." Simmons said tensely.

    "Well fine, I'm out of ideas. I'm sure Grif can think of something. You better hurry, though." Sarge grumped.

    Grif really didn't like the idea of being in charge of the distraction, but he didn't like the idea of being left ammo-less and shot here either. Why couldn't Simmons be the distraction? Why did it have to be him? With an irritated sigh he began to rack his brain for ideas. Finally he came up with something. It might not have been the best plan, but hopefully it would get the job done.

    Poking his head out of cover he shouted, "Hey, Blues! Catch!"

    As he shouted at them he threw a perfectly sized rock that happened to be by his foot between the two enemies.

    "Hit the deck!" the light blue one screamed and he dived inside the base while his companion hid behind his rock. They had thought it was a grenade just like Grif had hoped! He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. His happy moment of victory was interrupted by Simmons yanking on his arm and hissing under his breath, "Get a move on!"

    Sarge was already jogging away as Simmons dragged Grif away from the rock. Grif chanced a look back as they ran off back towards their own side of the canyon. The rock trick would only spare them a couple of seconds before Blue Team realized that there was no grenade. Simmons must have been thinking the same thing as he too glanced back as they sprinted away.

    "Keep going, I'm going to fire a couple shots." he said as he stopped and turned to fully face the base they were retreating from.

    Grif barely even managed a nod as he kept retreating, already he was starting to pant. God he hated running. He heard Simmons fire off a couple of shots, but didn't bother to look back. A part of him worried if he looked back he'd watch Simmons fall over dead, but the bigger part of him just didn't want to slow down and risk getting shot himself. He was getting more and more winded, though, so he was slowing down. Before he knew it Simmons was running up besides him again. Grif was going to say something, but before he could Sarge interrupted his thoughts.

    "I don't think they're following us." he said, having slowed down and peering back the way they had came. Grif too looked over his shoulder and sure enough, he didn't see any pursuing soldiers or hear any gunshots.

    "Good job scaring them off, Simmons." Sarge continued as he slowed down further to a walk.

    "I try my best, Sir!" Simmons piped up.

    Grif wanted to puke. Partly from disgust at his teammate's ass-kissery, and partly from exertion. Did he ever mention how much he hated running? There was also the fact that he had scared the Blues first, but he was a little too tired at the moment to argue the issue and he really didn't desire Sarge's praise like Simmons did. So instead he just stopped and bent over, hands on his knees as he breathed.

    "Stop lollygagging, Grif! We need to get back to base and think of a new plan of attack!" Sarge called out as he kept marching forward.

    "Yeah. . . Yeah, sure, I'm right behind you, Sarge." Grif said between gasps for breath.

    "You O.K., man?" Simmons asked him as he peered at Grif's bent over figure.

    "Oh yeah, I'm just fine. I love running for my life." Grif wheezed.

    "Whatever, you better get a move on before Sarge comes back and kicks your ass back to base." Simmons said before lightly jogging off back towards their base.

    A couple seconds later and Grif stood straight once more. His chest still hurt, but he didn't feel like he was going to die right then and there. Giving one last glance back the way they had come from he followed after his team. It really was pretty amazing that his whole rock plan had worked and the Blues hadn't chased after them. It just seemed too easy. Well, as long as he made it back to base he should be fine.


End file.
